The Mind's Entanglement
by Nymredil72
Summary: What would have happened if Gollum didn’t manage to get the ring from Frodo? If Frodo was to become the Dark Lord himself, would Sam be able to bring himself to hate him? Ch. 11- Legolas and Eowyn are sent to try to defeat Frodo... R&R, please!
1. The Choice

Summary: What would have happened if Gollum didn't manage to get the ring from Frodo? A very angst-filled fic, mostly from Sam's perspective. If Frodo was to become the Dark Lord himself, would Sam be able to bring himself to hate him? Like Tolkien's work, it may seem slashy to sick perverted minds, but it isn't!  
  
Disclaimer: Hey, guess what folks? Tolkien owns Lord of the Rings. Betcha' didn't know that. Wait. I have another surprise. (drumroll, please) I am not him! *gasp*  
  
Author's Note: Well. here's my first sorry attempt at Lord of the Rings fiction. I hope it's not too awful. I actually am rather fond of it, but I best not get my hopes up. Eek! I hope I don't get flamed. LotR is probably the hardest type of fan fiction to write well. But when you review (which you WILL do, btw) don't go easy on me. I like critisism, as long as it is constructive. I want to get better, so I'm counting on you to be nit-picky. Please and thank you!  
  
Chapter 1: The Choice  
  
Smoke. Ash. Sam cursed them. They cut at his throat and they stung his eyes. But these petty annoyances he could disregard readily, if only, if only he could see his poor mister Frodo. But the haze of smoke and ash clouded his vision. Made him stumble. They hid his master from him. "Why, why?" he muttered. He had followed his master for all this time and helped him in every way he could. But in the bitter end, when all the world fell into ruin, they would be separated. Sam thought of mister Frodo, all alone, cowering before the fires of Mount Doom as the engulfed him, and he choked. But no tears would come to his stinging eyes.  
  
Shielding his eyes, as if from a bright light, Sam scanned the landscape before him. There was no sign of his beloved Frodo. It would come any second now. Death. His master would cast the ring into the fire. The rock would crumble and the fires would pour forth and they would perish. Burn. In all his musings about their fate, Sam had never really given thought to the horror of this final moment, when he would finally lay down and abandon his life. But now the moment was so near, so very near, that he could not turn his mind away from it. But he wished, he only wished, that he and his beloved master could be together and live out there final moments together. The only thing that Sam wanted to do at this moment was to lay down beside his Mr. Frodo and listen to his last breaths and to comfort him, comfort him. But fate was cruel. It denied his master any solace, even in his final moments.  
  
Even as the gardener went on, hoping against hope that he would see Mr. Frodo again, he braced himself. Frodo would cast the ring into the fire. He knew it. Sam, his love for his master hiding the truth, believed beyond a doubt that Frodo would do this deed without hesitation. He was the strongest, bravest, wisest person he ever knew, with the possible exceptions of Mr. Strider and poor old Gandalf. Mr. Frodo was an angel, in the eyes of his sweet servant, and nothing could corrupt him, no matter what his master said. Mr. Frodo was being modest, that was all.  
  
Sam forced himself to look up again, though it pained him. His body was screaming, "Just lay down! Lay down and die, you fool, and end it!" But Sam's spirit of hope defied his aching limb's pleas, and he squinted his eyes, searching for anything, any sign of the master whom he loved so dearly.  
  
And there! He had known that he would find him! Sam saw a black blur, which threatened to blend into the background. But it was there, just the same. And something, something told him that that was his Mr. Frodo.  
  
" O, master! Me dear, me dear!" he had meant to call loudly. But the words died in his scratchy, parched throat, and came out more like a pathetic whimper. But Sam would not be put out. He ran, with all the speed he could muster from his failing limbs, towards the beloved figure.  
  
Finally, Sam collapsed at the feet of his master, his dear, dear Mr. Frodo. Holding back his the sobs threatening to erupt from within him, he gazed up at his master and smiled weakly. But the smile slowly faded from his sweet, innocent, round face as he beheld his master. Frodo too was smiling, but somehow Sam did not find it pleasant. Frodo's posture was more composed than it have ever been, even before their quest. Kingly he looked now, startlingly beautiful, yet far off. But as Sam searched his face, he could find nothing of his warm and loving master. Despite his royal stance and beauty, there was something there that Sam could not put his finger on. Something unbearably ugly and twisted. Something that made him want to scream and scream and never stop. Something that made him want to curl up in a ball and cry and hide his face until his Mr. Frodo came back.  
  
"But how silly," Sam thought. "That is Mr. Frodo, you fool, the master who's been so good to you. What would your gaffer say, thinkin' such things, you lout?"  
  
Swallowing his fears, Sam spoke to his master, barely above a whisper, "Let it go, Mr. Frodo. Throw it in, sir, so. so we can have some peace. You needn't be scared, master, dear. Your Sam'll be hear, and he'll.he'll make sure no harm befall you." With those word he took his masters fair hand with both of his brown, calloused ones and rested his forehead upon it, finally allowing his tears to fall. They stung his weary eyes so much, but he could not stop their incessant flow. "M-mister Frodo," he gasped between sobs, "s-so scared." And still, the tight knot of fear in his stomach loosened. It was such a comfort, to be here with him. Sam wished they could stay like this forever, and that it didn't all have to end. And yet, somehow he knew.  
  
Frodo withdrew his hand from Sam's sweaty grasp. And still, he did not move further. Sam sensed that he was waiting for something. Slowly, his clumsy servant drew himself up onto his shaking legs. Sam had to steady himself on the rock face to his left, for his trembling legs felt as if they were ready to collapse beneath him. To Sam's surprise, Frodo suddenly fell to his knees and crawled towards him, sobbing hysterically. He was crying out slurred, indiscernible words. Frodo clutched at his servant's shirt, using him as a wall to lean himself against as he struggle to bring himself to his feet. Sam stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do, except to gaze down upon Mr. Frodo with his soft brown eyes which were bottomless wells of pity.  
  
When Frodo managed to stand, he grasped Sam's shoulders roughly as to balance himself. He let his weary head hang down, resting it on the now familiar and comforting spot between Sam's neck and his shoulders. How many times he had rested it there, as if to hide from darkness and despair, Frodo did not know. But he did know this time would be the last.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"S-sam? O, Sam, Sam, Samsamsam." Frodo spoke these muffled words into Sam's shirt, comforted just by hearing the sound of his dear friend's name. Perhaps, if he spoke it enough, the darkness in his soul would abate.  
"Yes, master dear. Your Sam's here, so don't you fret."  
  
"Please, oh please. d-don't leave me. D-don't let it. Sam. it w- wants. O. it w-wants to hurt y-you, Sam-lad. My dear Sam. T-take it. w- won't let me. Saaaaaaaaaam!"  
  
Sam's heart broke as his poor master screamed this last word into his shirt. He shook his curly head, finding all words useless, and awkwardly caressed Mr. Frodo's shaking back just murmuring small comforts like, "Ssshhh." and "hush you now." But abruptly the sobs stopped. Frodo pushed himself away from Sam with surprising roughness, and regained his former posture. To poor Sam, this made him look terribly tall and frightening. The only sign of the battle Frodo was fighting within himself was his twitching hands.  
  
Sam was now backed up against the rock face, and was looking down at the ground. But he forced himself to look up at his master. "It's just your master, you fool. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, thinkin' ill of him like that, an' bein' scared of him," he told himself. As he looked up, he saw Frodo looking at him steadily, his hands hanging at his sides, still feebly trembling. His face was twitching as well, but not his eyes. They bored directly into Sam's with infinite sorrow. "Sam." he muttered. Frodo leaned forward, brushing back his golden-brown curls with shacking hands. He kissed his friend's forehead softly, still fighting an internal battle. As he drew back, he whispered, "I'm sorry."  
  
Sam looked at his master in puzzlement. But all became clear as he heard the scraping of metal as Frodo, his best friend for as long as he could remember, drew Sting from its sheath. Despair, and emotion to which the hobbit was so unfamiliar, filled Sam as he croaked, "Please, Mr. Frodo! Frodo, Frodo, Frodo! Please don't! Don't 'urt me!"  
  
But Frodo's strong and clear voice drowned out the pathetic whimpers of his servant. "I have come. But I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"  
  
And he vanished, leaving his Sam on his knees, tears spilling forth in torrents.  
  
There's more where that came from. if you like it, that is. Please tell me! And btw, I did not forget about Gollum, he's coming soon, so fear not. I hope to have the new chapter ready no later than next week. Once again, those who review will be held in high honor. See ya! 


	2. Giving In

Ack. this chapter was disgustingly hard to write. I'm not going to give anything away, but once you're done reading I think you'll have figured out why. *prays that she didn't butcher Tolkien's work entirely* I don't want to be like a certain PJ who's name shan't be mentioned here... As always, review or die!  
  
Chapter 2: Giving In  
  
Sam was on his knees, fighting the swoon which was about to overcome him. He tried to focus and make sense of the world around him, but it was swimming before his eyes. Poor Sam was dazed and confused. Why? Why? Why had his Mr. Frodo, his sweet master, do such a thing? Had Sam done something wrong? Didn't master care for him any more? The simple gardener, in his state of shock, could not see the simple answer: after all their struggles Frodo had succumbed to the will of the ring at the bitter end.  
  
Sam moaned miserably. There was nothing he could do. Nothing! He ordered his limbs to move, but they would not obey. "Mr. Frodo, come back! Come back to your Sam!" he cried out, but had he spoken aloud? Or were those words just an echo is his fading mind?  
  
The last thing Sam saw was a dark shape rush past him, and then the world about him went dark.  
  
***  
  
Sam painfully roused himself. He did not have the strength to pull himself onto his feet, but he did manage to drag himself into a sitting position. After blinking a couple of times, the world came into focus, and to his surprise he saw his master standing before him, looking faintly concerned. Sam uttered a small cry and shuddered visibly. He was shocked.  
  
"Do I repel you Samwise?" asked Frodo with a hurt expression.  
  
Sam shook his head wearily and managed a weak smile. "No, no, of course not, master, dear. Don't you even think such a thing! You startled me, was all. The last I saw, you- well, you had..." The stout hobbit shuddered again. He did not want to think of it. The moment was past, and the world was back to the way it should be. Even in his pitiable state, Samwise had managed to notice that his master no longer wore the ring about his neck. The quest was over. Frodo had come through.  
  
"See, you ninnyhammer?" he admonished himself, "There was naught to fear. How could you have doubted your master?"  
  
Frodo managed to return the smile, and extended his hand, as to help his weak and shaking servant to his feet.  
  
Sam took it gladly, but as he did, the young hobbit realized something was amiss. Where was Gollum? For he was sure that he was the dark figure whom he had seen running towards his master before he lost consciousness. And if his master had indeed destroyed the ring, why had the dark tower not fallen? Why weren't the fires issuing forth from the mountain? By all rights, they should have been dead.  
  
"Master, why-" Sam began, but he stopped as he looked down at Mr. Frodo's hand. And there, upon his finger was the ring!  
  
Sam cried out in fear as he pushed the hand away from him. How? HOW?! This was the only thing that echoed dimly through Sam's head. Why wasn't his master invisible? What was going on? How could he do this to him? The young hobbit once again backed up against the rock face, numb, and stared at his master with wide, fearful eyes.  
  
Frodo attempted again to calm Samwise, resting his hand upon his servant's shoulder. "Sam..." he said, tears starting in his eyes, "please-"  
  
But Sam cut him short. "D-don't touch m-me with that- that thing on your hand. It's prettier without it." Sam remember dimly that old Tom Bombadil had said that once. Back when... back when his master had cared for him. But that was long ago, an Age, it seemed. The fires and ash of Mordor contrasted sharply with the lush green of Tom's homely forest. No, Sam told himself, that was far away. Old Tom could not help him now.  
  
Sam was snapped back to reality as Frodo shoved him roughly into the jagged stones. The poor hobbit smothered a cry as some sharp rocks tore through his skin. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his back... But that didn't matter. Physical pain was never something that would daunt Samwise Gamgee, but he was very vulnerable emotionally. No, no rocks could compare with the cold blade which was twisting, tearing through his heart... His master had never struck him before, not even in those brief moments when the Ring had taken him over. Sam gasped, trying frantically to master himself. But before he could control his trembling body and the frantic beating of his heart, Frodo grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him across the ground, and finally shoving him towards the edge of the cliff. Sam felt the heat on his face, so he rolled over and looked down, seeing the fires from what seemed like miles away. Crying out loudly, the young hobbit crawled away from the edge with all the strength he could muster. He only managed to go a couple of feet before he collapsed on the rock and lay there like a dead thing.  
  
He stayed there, sprawled out on the rock, for some minutes, just gasping and gasping, his eyes closed tightly. Sam's master just stood over him silently, gazing at the pathetic creature at his feet. Finally, Sam summoned the strength to roll over and he looked up at his master with frightened brown eyes. "Frodo," he said, forgetting his master's proper title, "why... why don't you like me no more? Just tell me, sir, whatever I did wrong, and I'll make it up to you. Please..." Then he suddenly changed direction. Sitting up, the young hobbit pleaded, "O, Mr. Frodo... just throw the accursed thing away! It's hurt you so, so much. Why do you want to keep it, sir? Just throw it out and we can be done with it! Then we could just be ourselves and we won't have to get hurt no more. O, Frodo. I just want to go home!" With this, Sam burst into wild sobs again.  
  
Frodo knelt down beside him and said, "Sam-lad, you must allow me to explain."  
  
Sam just looked at his master with hurt eyes.  
  
Looking away, Frodo continued, "Well, I..." But all his explanations seemed foolish when they had to be spoken to his sensible friend. Sam would never understand the way the Ring had shown him the truth; the true way to defeat the Dark Lord. The way the Ring's sweet voice had called to him, "Come now, Frodo... nothing to fear. I like you Frodo, you know... much more than any of the others. Don't you like me? Don't you trust me? I've trusted you, so why do you not return the favor? I want to help you, Frodo. Put me on... trust me... trust me..."  
  
How could he have resisted that sweet voice?  
  
Then Gollum had come. He must have heard the Ring's call as well. But Frodo was not going to allow this weak creature to take his prize. The struggle had only been brief. Now Gollum was dead; cast into the fire. Frodo shuddered, remembering Smeagol's last shrill cry. For a moment, the hobbit's stomach had lurched, and he had felt sadness well up in his heart. But the moment then passed, for he was faced with a new obstacle, this one far greater than the last. Sauron.  
  
Frodo shook his head. He did not want to think about that. The way the Eye had stared down at him, seeming to read his mind, see in him and through him, making him feel so pathetic and utterly weak... Frodo could still hear His taunts echoing in his mind... His horrible laughter... the way his whole body seemed to have fiery blades piercing it and he was lost in an agony that would never end...  
  
Once again, Frodo shook his curly head. He DIDN'T have to think about it. It was over. Sauron was gone, gone. Thanks to the help of the ring. The hobbit looked down at his precious treasure, smiling gently. Somehow, he had always known they were wrong. Gandalf, Elrond, Sam... what did they know about it, anyway? The Ring was precious, yes, precious. Why had he ever believed their foolish lies?  
  
"Mr. Frodo..." said Sam, his voice urgent and full of grief.  
  
Frodo turned swiftly and glared at his servant with violent hatred. "You little fool!" he yelled loudly, "Why do you not shut your mouth, and remember your place? Don't forget, servant, I am your master and you do not have the right to question me about my decisions. And you certainly cannot try to tell me that I am the fool! You haven't brains enough to fill a pea, and yet you expect me to listen to YOU! Samwise, you don't know anything about the ring at all, but I know plenty. Would you like me to share some of my wisdom with you, servant?"  
  
Sam looked at the ground with teary eyes and said nothing.  
  
"With the help of this object which you, in all your wisdom, have deemed to be evil beyond all comprehension, I have defeated Lord Sauron and rid the world of his menace. And I am now the Lord of the Rings!"  
  
Sam stood up furiously and shouted, "But Mr. Frodo, that can't be right! Don't you see-"  
  
But Frodo, slapping him hard across the face and forcing him to his knees, cut him off, saying, "On your knees, you dog! You should at least pretend to have some respect for your master."  
  
Sam looked up again at his master, now sobbing hysterically. He could not understand why Mr. Frodo was torturing him so. Every one of his words was like a blade through Sam's heart. They pierced him deeply and left him helpless, helpless... "Master, master, please! I wasn't meanin' no harm, sir, and I certainly wasn't meanin' to disrespect you. I've always thought you were the wisest person alive, Mr. Frodo. But I'm only tryin' to make sure you don't get hurt, sir... 'Cause if you did... well it would just kill me sir!"  
  
If Sam thought that his master was going to relent, he had made the most painful mistake of his short life. Frodo did the last thing that Sam had expected: he laughed; long and cruelly. With a smile still on his face, the older hobbit picked up Sting from the ground, wiping the dust and grime from its silver blade slowly and deliberately, watching the horrified look on his servant's face with amusement and relish.  
  
"Please, please! Frodo, me dear, no! Don't you care for me no more? Don't you know me?!"  
  
Frodo turned towards Sam and laughed again. "Fight me, Sam," he taunted.  
  
Sam looked at his master, dumbfounded. "Fight you, sir? I couldn't! I wouldn't! Not even if I had a blade... I'd never want to hurt you, Mr. Frodo."  
  
Frodo just continued smiling the same hollow smile. "Sam, you can fight well enough with your fists. You fought Ted back at home plenty of times. In my defense, if I remember correctly." He laughed. "But now you are going to fight me."  
  
"I won't!" cried Sam, in a flurry of tears. "You can kill me, and I shan't care. But I'll never hurt you, Frodo!"  
  
"Have it your way then, fool," said Frodo calmly. Then he attacked. He sprang at Sam, violently knocking him to the ground and slicing deeply in his left arm. Sam was in shock. He had never, never believed that his master would actually do this... actually kill him. The idea made him feel numb all over. But the poor hobbit was true to his word. He did not fight back against his dear friend. Instead, Sam curled up on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and weeping feverishly.  
  
The last thing he saw was Sting coming down towards his neck in a rush of silver.  
  
***************  
Hehe. That's all for now, folks! I know that the explanation for how Frodo defeated Sauron is sparse, at best, but I assure you that it is meant to be that way. Further details will come to light as the story progresses. Thanks for the reviews so far! But I'm greedy... I want more! Please, please, pleasepleaseplease give me your honest evaluation. I'll love you forever! Please and thank you!  
  
~*Nymredil*~ 


	3. The Choices of Master Samwise

Hey, y'all... Thanks for all the reviews! *grin* I'm happy you like it so far! And Feckless... I hate to say it, but there's another "evil cliff" at the end of this one too. Hehe. *evil laugh* So, here's the next chapter. Once again, it was very hard to make everything make sense... but I think I've done okay... at least, I HOPE I've done okay... *prays* I have my little Frodo action figure sitting atop my computer as I write. He's my muse. He inspires me. I'm gonna be getting Sammie for Christmas, so then I'll have two little muses. Does that mean my writing will be twice as good? *ponders* I hope so... And I shall now shut up and let you read chapter 3...  
  
Chapter 3: The Choices of Master Samwise  
  
Those last moments seemed to play in slow motion for poor Samwise. He saw the blade rush down to meet his neck, and he felt the horrible pain as it pierced his flesh. Closing his eyes tightly, he waited for his life to end.  
  
But the end did not come. He waited for seconds which seemed to span for an eternity, but the pain in his neck did not end. Nor did the frantic beating of his heart. Sam was still alive; still curled up upon the cold hard stone of Mount Doom. Opening his eyes slowly, Sam looked up at his master hesitantly, almost afraid of what he was going to see. But when he did finally look, he was once again surprised. Frodo was still holding Sting to his neck, but his face was twitching uncontrollably, and his entire body was trembling. He was gasping loudly, and his left hand was at his own throat, shaking like a leaf. Frodo was staring down at Sam, his blue eyes wide and his mouth agape.  
  
"Sam? Sam?!" cried Frodo, suddenly casting Sting to the side and falling to his knees beside his dear friend. He gathered up the sobbing hobbit in his arms and held him tightly, rocking him back and forth as he would a small child who had just awoken from a bad dream. "I didn't mean it, Sam, you must know I didn't... O, Sam-lad, I don't know what came over me... Please, forgive me!"  
  
"Of course I will, Mr. Frodo," sniffed Sam, wiping away his tears with his sleeve, "But..." He paused apprehensively. Sam knew that if he brought up the subject of the Ring again, his master would quickly fall back into his possessive rage. But he could not exactly avoid the subject. They were there, upon the peak of Mount Doom, and the Ring had to be destroyed! There was never a more urgent matter! Sam had to force his dear master to remember this, no matter what the consequences. If it came down to a fight... he would do what he had to do. Sam had borne the Ring for a little while, so he could guess at the torment of Mr. Frodo's mind. He would most likely rather... rather die... if the only other choice was to be under the Ring's power and bring pain unto everyone who loved him. Yes, Sam thought, if Frodo resisted, his only choice would be to take the Ring by force... no matter how much it pained him. He slowly considered how he would remind his poor master of the task, and had just opened his mouth to speak when-  
  
"-Sam?"  
  
Startled, Sam looked into poor Mr. Frodo's sad blue eyes. "Yes, master dear?" he sighed, smiling sadly.  
  
"Would you... would you fetch me my sword, please?"  
  
Sam's suspicion was immediately aroused. "What you be wanting that for, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
His master threw Sam a dark look. "Never you mind. Just bring me Sting... there's a good lad..." He struggled to give his servant a forced smile.  
  
Sam looked at Frodo suspiciously, but went to go get the sword. He didn't want to fight with his master about this when there were much more important matters at hand. The young hobbit picked up Sting and weighed it in his hand. Then a thought came to him unbidden. He could kill Frodo now, and not have to risk the possibility that his master would kill him before he could throw out the Ring. If that happened, the world would certainly fall into ruin. It would be so easy... and it seemed to be the only safe thing to do. But Sam immediately cursed himself. How could he think such a horrific thing?! It was very likely that he would have to hurt or even slay his master before the end of this terrible day, but it would not be now, in cold blood. Sam had never been so ashamed of any of his thoughts before. But the fact that he had even considered the option of killing his poor Mr. Frodo right now made him feel sick.  
  
Sam walked back to his master's side feeling utterly wretched.  
  
"Thank you very much Sam," said Frodo, taking Sting in his hands. He then added wistfully, "You've always been so good to me, my dear Sam."  
  
"Ha." thought Sam, feeling more disgusted of himself by the minute.  
  
"I don't deserve you... your loyalty... your friendship..." Frodo continued, oblivious to his friend's thoughts, "I've caused you so much pain, my poor Samwise..."  
  
"No, no, Mr. Frodo... don't you go sayin' things like that. I would have gone mad if I didn't go with you, and that's a fact."  
  
Frodo just ignored Sam. "It's true... I really don't deserve your kindness. And now the Ring has taken me, and I'm only tormenting you MORE! I deserve DEATH!"  
  
Sam was shocked. His master, who had always been so soft-spoken and mild, was now shouting at the top of his lungs. He watched helplessly as Mr. Frodo took the sword and pointed it as his chest. "NO!" shouted Sam, and he lunged at Frodo, knocking Sting out of his hands. Frodo cried out and grabbed for it, but Sam was too quick. He pinned his wildly protesting master down to the ground with both hands as he kicked Sting over the edge and into the fire. Frodo gave a wild shriek, but he could not move, for Sam was on top of him, restraining him, lest he attempt to leap into the fire himself.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" he admonished him, as if he was speaking to a mischievous hobbit lad who had stolen apples from the orchard, "How could you do that? You speak about how you wish that I wasn't tormented no more, but if you did that, I would have been miserable for the rest of my days! If you really wished to make me happy, you would throw that miserable piece of metal into the fire! Can't you see that's the only way to set things right? Just throw it away! Please, Mr. Frodo..."  
  
"Never!" cried Frodo with violent hatred, and he leapt up with strength that amazed his servant. And Sam was then forced to do something he never imagined he would do; he fought with his master.  
  
Sam was very careful about what he did; he certainly wanted to avoid Frodo getting hurt at all costs. He desperately tried to hold his master still so he could grab the Ring off of his hand, but Frodo was putting up a better fight than he had expected. Back in the old days, before the Quest, Sam could have easily topped Frodo's strength. And now, Frodo had been terribly weakened by the Ring, and Sam had thought that he would be able to beat his master even more easily. But that was not the case. Sam suspected that the power of the Ring had given his master new strength.  
  
Sam managed to jump on Frodo from behind and get a hold of his arms, but before he could tighten his grip, Frodo spun around, throwing his servant across the ground.  
  
Sam cried out in pain. His back, his neck, and his head all ached terribly, and if he tried to move them, a horrible pain would shoot up and down his spine. As he saw Frodo advancing towards him, Sam played his last trick. As his master went past his legs, he kicked forward with all his might, hitting Frodo ankles with a great force.  
  
Frodo was knocked off of his feet and he screamed. Sam gasped in horror. From his perspective, with his head resting on the rock, he had misjudged Frodo's distance from the edge. But he now saw that his master had been only feet away from the edge... and he had knocked him over it.  
  
Cursing and sobbing, Sam leapt to his feet, ignoring the splitting running down his back. "Mr. Frodo!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran to the edge. Bracing himself for the worst, he peered over. To his relief, Sam saw his master clinging to the rock with his left hand, not even a foot down. He grabbed Frodo's left wrist with both hands, and began pulling him up.  
  
But then he stopped. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam called.  
  
Frodo looked up at his friend with his frightened blue eyes.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, listen to me! Take off the Ring and drop it!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Mr. Frodo, you must!"  
  
"Shut your mouth, you filthy animal, and pull me up!"  
  
"Please..." Sam begged, tears flowing freely down his round face.  
  
"Never!"  
  
Sam took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Frodo, you must listen to me..."  
  
Silence.  
  
He breathed again, trying desperately to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape him. "Mr. Frodo... if you don't drop that thing, then I can't pull you up. If- if you don't listen to your Sam, he'll let go. I swear it. The Ring must be destroyed... and if that's the only way that you'll let it happen, sir..." He choked. This was too much. What was he saying? But despite all of his heart's protests, Sam knew this was the only acceptable thing do. "... then I'll do what I must... I- I'll let you fall."  
  
**********************  
  
So... has my muse inspired me or abandoned me? Do tell! I am a review fiend! I wants them, I wants them! Please, be as critical as you want, for I am eager to hear about all my faults. Of course, you don't have to list ALL of them... you'd be writing for, like, a week... Toodles!  
  
~*Nymredil*~ 


	4. A Loss of Will

Urg... sorry I've taken so long to update... I was actually planning on getting a lot done over the break... Ha. I've had the flu, and just when I though that I was well again I relapsed and was even worse. This was probably the most un-fun Christmas ever... and I just got back into school today! I have a disgusting amount of make-up work to do, but I am going to make a sincere effort to update as often as possible. But I can't make any promises... I have midterms next week! :P  
  
Thank you so very much for all of the reviews! *beams* willowscribe... do you mean how Frodo defeated Sauron? Because I'm really not going to elaborate much more on how he killed Gollum. They fought and Frodo won. That's basically it. And Sauron... there are still a couple of more chapters to go until a significant amount of light is shed on this question. Laura: *blush* you flatter me. No criticism??? *dances around the room, screaming "yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" insanely* Too bad it shan't last. Nutty... what can I say? LOL!  
  
Hmm... I had better get writing, wouldn't you say? So... this is Chapter 4... and... well, you know the drill.  
  
**********  
  
Chapter 4: Loss of Will  
  
Frodo gazed up at Sam with disbelief in his wide blue eyes. How could his Sam threaten to do such a thing? He had thought that Sam's devotion was unconditional and always unwavering... but obviously he had been wrong.  
  
i"That's right... he is a filthy traitor; a sniveling little rat."i  
  
"No," thought Frodo desperately, "not Sam... not my dear Sam..."  
  
i"Yes... he wants to take me... he wants to take me from you... but you mustn't let him, Frodo!"i  
  
"But that can't be right! Sam is going to drop you... he is going to drop imei!" And that thought brought Frodo's thoughts back to his current plight. Looking up at Sam, he searched his familiar face for any sign of pity. Sam appeared to be in great pain, but prepared to perform the sickening deed if need arose.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, please! Just drop the accursed thing! Don't you make me do this... oh, please, sir..."  
  
Sam was right! He was being so foolish! Drop it! Oh, why couldn't he bring himself to drop the Ring? It was just a band of gold... just a worthless ring! Why...  
  
"Master!" Sam's voice was urgent now... desperate... "Frodo, me dear..." he paused, seemingly searching for the right words. He than began to speak very slowly, as if every word was a dagger to his heart. "Sir, I... I shall count to ten... and... and... if you don't let it go, I... I shall..." A sob escaped from Sam, and he turned his gaze away from his dear Frodo, unable to stand the intense disbelief and despair in his eyes.  
  
Frodo was in a panic. Sam had spoken very gravely, and he certainly sounded like he meant every word of it. But for the life of him, he could not drop the Ring!  
  
"He shan't drop you anyway," part of him argued, "Sam is Sam. He shall never be able to bring himself to do it."  
  
"One..."  
  
"But," Frodo argued, "he has other things he cares about besides me. The Shire... the whole world is depending upon my task! Sam knows that as well as I... and if I refuse to do this thing, then he shall do it for me..." He paused for a moment, concluding, "And he shall be right as well."  
  
"Two..."  
  
"If he does this, then he shall be a liar and a traitor! He pretended to care for you... he pretended to be your friend!"  
  
"Three..."  
  
"Sam is my friend! He is my very best friend! My Sam..."  
  
"Four..."  
  
"You don't have any friends; nobody likes you... him least of all!"  
  
"Five..."  
  
"No... nonono..." Frodo was sobbing now, in utter despair.  
  
"Six."  
  
"Do you think the Fellowship cared about you? Of course they did not... all they cared about was the Ring, and about using you to do their bidding."  
  
"Seven..." Sam's voice cracked. What was taking his master so long?  
  
The ring... he had to drop it. He HAD to! But he could no longer control his hand... It wasn't fair... It wasn't his fault! Sam had to understand... "Sam! My dear Sam! You can't do this! Please... you must understand! I can't... I just can't... oh, please! Please! pleasepleaseplease..."  
  
"Eight..." This was barely audible, for it was nothing more than a loud sob.  
Frodo was in hysterics now; shouting curses and kicking wildly, sobs racking his small, bruised body.  
  
"Nine..." Sam's voice was resigned, and he was preparing himself for what he was going to have to do in a couple of moments.  
  
A sudden calm washed over Frodo, and he stopped struggling. Perhaps it was all for the best. He would find a peace in death that he would never be able to possess again whilst he was living. And even if he did destroy the ring himself, he would die minutes later anyway. He only wished that he could die being the hero that they had all wanted him to be. Strider... Gandalf... Sam... they would all be disappointed in him... but perhaps they would understand. He wasn't strong enough to be their hero. But Sam... his sweet Sam... he was.  
  
Barely above a whisper, Sam murmured, "Ten."  
  
Frodo screwed his eyes shut tight as he could, and waited...  
  
But the end did not come. Sam was still clinging desperately to his beloved master, unable to let go. "Now," he thought grimly, "I know how Mr. Frodo feels about that ring." Sam tried one last time to reason with his Mr. Frodo. "Please, sir, just-"  
  
"-Never!"  
  
Frodo was partly shocked that he had shouted at Sam so harshly, but glad as well. Perhaps that would wake the poor lad up and make him realize that... that killing him was the only safe course of action to take.  
  
He should have known better. Sam just did not have the strength to condemn the friend that he loved so much to a fiery death. Sam began to pull Frodo up.  
  
"You fool!" he shouted in anger, and he tried in vain to free himself from Sam's grasp. But it was all for naught, for Sam was much stronger than he. Also, Frodo did not put his whole heart into the struggle. In truth, he did not want to die.  
  
Relief flooded through Frodo's body as he felt sturdy rock beneath him. He numbly allowed himself to be gathered up into Sam's arms.  
  
For his part, Sam knew that he had made a grave mistake, but he couldn't help himself. He had loved and admired Frodo ever since he was a small child, and Frodo too had cared for him. Most lads in their tweens wouldn't have wanted a small boy of twelve following them about everywhere. Most masters would have admonished their servants for being overly familiar. But not his Mr. Frodo. He was different... special in a way that Samwise could not explain.  
  
In his tight embrace, Sam's master was sobbing. Sam looked down upon him in pity, studying him thoughtfully. This thin and filthy hobbit was nothing like the lad whom he had loved as a child. Not only his body had changed, but his very essence... his soul. If Sam closed his eyes, he could almost see Frodo, young and laughing, his blue eyes alight, just so... so happy. No, the pitiful creature lying in his arms was not his Mr. Frodo... but as long as he lived, there was still hope that he could become again what he once was.  
  
"There we go, what did I tell you?" part of Frodo thought smugly. "If there is one good thing about that fool, it is that he is so very attached to you. He could never bring himself to harm you. What were you thinking? How could you consider resigning yourself to death? You have the ring now! Think of what you could accomplish! You, with the ring, could turn Mordor into a place of song and laughter, as it was in the Beginning, before the Dark Lord! Yes, you Frodo, could bring this about and much more. You have in you the power to reverse every evil Sauron has done unto this Earth."  
  
Frodo did not have the willpower to deny himself. He slowly rose, pushing Sam away dismissively.  
  
Sam pulled away from Frodo, wiping the tears from his eyes. He was completely at a loss of what he should say or do. The young hobbit knew quite well that he was wrong for allowing Frodo to keep the ring, but what could he do? If Sam was to provoke Frodo into anger, Frodo would slay him, and then there wouldn't be any hope of his master ever coming to his senses. Sam figured that he would have to stay in Frodo's good graces until an opportunity arose for him to... well, what exactly he wanted to do he did not know. Sam decided that he would buy himself some time to think, so he reverted to his usual manner of focusing on the practical points of their adventure. "Mr. Frodo, where are we going to go? What are we going to do? We have naught to eat and drink... and what of the others, sir? By the sound of what those Orcs said, the Dark Lord was attacking Gondor. Wasn't that where Mr. Strider was settin' off to? The rest of the Fellowship probably followed him as well..." Then the full impact of what he was saying hit Sam in a flash. "They may be dyin' sir... even as we speak!"  
  
***********  
  
Okay... not as much of a cliffhanger as the other chapters, but I suppose I cannot expect every chapter to end on such a suspenseful note. As I said, as soon as my midterms are over (next Tuesday) I am planning to update at a more constant rate. Until then, I shall be reading the multitude of reviews that I know you are going to send me (because if you do not, I shall see to it that you all die bloody, painful deaths.) Hmm... now an opinion question: I am thinking about writing the next chapter partly from the points of view of the rest of the fellowship. Do you think that is a good idea, or should I just keep it only from the points of view of Frodo and Sam? So, review and tell me your opinions. Please and thank you!  
  
~*Nymredil*~ 


	5. Hope Lost

Ugh! I am so very sorry for taking so long to update!!! I truly wish I had an excuse, but sadly, I am lacking one... unless pure laziness is an excuse... But I'm back! This chapter is told mostly from Pippin's point of view. Don't all you Frodo and Sam fans worry. All the other chapters are going to be told from either one of their points of view. Pippin shan't be the star of any more chapters after this. And I shall now shut up... here's the next chapter!  
  
*****  
  
Chapter 5: Hope Lost  
  
"Gandalf, what is happening?"  
  
Aragorn looked to the wizard, puzzled and fearful. Gandalf looked back at him but answered not.  
  
"Mithrandir, the orcs retreat. Why?"  
  
Gandalf continued to gazed upon the king, but at length answered, "If I had any explanation, Elessar, I would give it readily. But seeing as I have none, I have naught to say. Please forgive an old man who is trying to find the answer you seek!"  
  
Nodding slightly, Aragorn stepped back and turned to Legolas. The elf was staring across the barren landscape, brows furrowed, seeming to seek some sort of answer from the desolate ruin laid before him. "Legolas."  
  
The elf turned towards Aragorn, saying nothing. Aragorn searched for a question to pose, but found himself at a loss for words. Their situation was inexplicably odd, and somewhat awkward for a warrior such as himself. On the brink of victory, the enemy had suddenly turned around as a mass and left them to their bewilderment. What were they to do? Give chase? Ridiculous. Go home? Equally preposterous. Follow? Quite implausible and yet the most plausible option they had. And that was ignoring entirely the questions that arose as to why the orcs had decided to leave. "Do they only wish to prolong our suffering by giving us false hope?" Aragorn wondered aloud.  
  
"Someone is approaching," Legolas cautioned him.  
  
"How many? Who?"  
  
"There is a horse with two riders, unless the distance cheats my eyes. However, I can not tell who they are ere they draw closer."  
  
Aragorn nodded, "Perhaps the Dark Lord is attempting to negotiate with us once again. And yet why he would bother with such diplomatic pretenses is beyond my skill to fathom."  
  
"Somehow I do not think-"  
  
A cry of despair lifted over the field, resonating eerily in the dead air. Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other. "Gimli," said Legolas grimly, and ran towards the cry, followed closely by Aragorn.  
  
They found the dwarf kneeling on the ground beside a small figure, weeping loudly. It was Pippin. And yet even as Aragorn drew in a shuddering breath, the small hobbit stirred, and looked about, blinking in bewilderment.  
  
The man exhaled deeply and shook his head, managing to let out a short laugh of relief. Gimli, however, stood up, bristling with anger. "Quite theatrical, you are, Master Hobbit! Stay in a swoon long enough to get us good and worried, and then wake up in the nick of time to get everyone to fuss over you! Well, I'll not have it. And let me tell you, little Pippin, if you ever give me such a fright again, I will never speak to you again, much less gush forth my sympathies!"  
  
However, when Pippin blinked dully, a look of hurt confusion on his face, Gimli broke into laughter. "Worry not, laddie!" said he, "Even if I was angry at you, I could not stay in such a state for long!" Pippin managed to smile slightly, but then groaned as he made an attempt to sit himself upright. Aragorn knelt beside him, his eyebrows knit together in concern.  
  
"I apologize, Pippin, but I shall not be able to heal you at the moment. Mercenaries of the Dark Lord come hither, and I shall not have time to see to your wound ere they arrive. Do not worry yourself, my friend, the wound need not be tended to immediately. I am afraid, however, I must ask you to bear the pain for a while longer.  
  
Pippin gritted his teeth and nodded, if not somewhat reluctantly. However, he could not stop himself from asking, "What does he want, Strider? Why does he send his servants to deal with us again when we have already refused his terms?"  
  
Aragorn paused for a moment, searching for an answer to give his small friend. He settled on just telling him the simple truth, "I do not know, Pippin." Pippin inclined his head slightly, in a painful attempt to nod. He did not know what to say.  
  
"Aragorn!" Pippin turned his head towards the cry. It was Legolas, pointing and looking excited about something. Painfully rousing himself, he went to go see what the elf was fussing about. He had never seen Legolas act in such a, well, undignified manner.  
  
"What is it?" he asked, squinting his eyes as he looked in the direction Legolas was pointing. All Pippin could see was a blur of a horse coming down the plain, with two riders mounted upon him. "Frodo and Sam!" he cried, "It's Frodo and Sam!"  
  
A sea of emotions rushed through Pippin's mind and heart. Without realizing it, he fell to his knees weeping with joy. "Frodo and Sam! It's a miracle!" he cried through his tears. Pippin heard a soft sigh from behind him, and, upon turning about, he beheld Gandalf, not looking pleased in the slightest. "What's wrong Gandalf?" he inquired, confused. "What's wrong? What's wrong?" He looked to his companions, all of whom looked equally grim. The look of excitement had faded from Legolas' eyes. "What's wrong?" the little hobbit repeated, worry creeping into his voice.  
  
Gandalf sighed again and responded, "I will say nothing now, my dear hobbit." Pippin was ready to cry out in protest, but Gandalf continued, "I will say nothing now, because I do not know if my suspicions are correct. And if they are, you will understand ere long. Your cousin draws near, Pippin."  
  
Indeed, the two hobbits were now close enough for Pippin to see them clearly. He was relieved to see that Frodo was showing no sign of great hurt. In fact, he was even able to master the difficult task (for a hobbit) of riding a horse. However, Pippins spirits dropped as he beheld Sam. Sam was behind Frodo, clutching to his master as if his life depended on it. His head was resting on Frodo's back, his face buried in his cloak. Samwise looked up tentatively and immediately clenched his eyes shut tight and bit his lip, reluctant tears rolling down his cheeks. "Poor Sam," thought Pippin with a pang of sympathy, "He must be terrified."  
  
Frodo was now before them. He swiftly pried Sam's clutching fingers from his shirt and dismounted smoothly, leaving his servant swaying in the saddle, eyes wide with terror. "Mr. Frodo! Please!" he choked. Again he swayed dangerously, but Aragorn caught him before he fell to the ground. Pippin watched, not quite sure what to think or do besides feel sorry, as Aragorn held Sam in his arm, cradling him much as he would a child. Sam was now positively hysterical. Strider rocked him slowly, shifting him slightly in his arms so that the hobbit was looking up at his face. "Sam, Sam..." he said quietly and whispered something indiscernible in his ear. Sam seemed to calm down and nodded.  
  
"Pippin, your cloak please." Pippin jumped slightly, for he had not expected to be addressed. He quickly gave Strider his cloak and watched as he laid Sam down gently on the ground, rolling the cloak into a neat bundle and putting it beneath Sam's head. Strider knelt down beside Sam and again whispered something that Pippin could not hear. When Strider rose, Sam's eyes were shut and his breathing deep and even. He looked about, making it clear that he was addressing them all when he said, "He has had a difficult journey. Do not disturb his rest."  
  
The blood rose in Frodo's face as he said bitterly, "Have I not traveled the same distance, to the same destination, as he? Where is my welcome?"  
  
"I beg your pardon, Master Hobbit, but I did not see any sign of distress from you. I might even venture so far as to say that you seem much more well off than when I saw you last. There is an explanation for this, I have no doubt. The question is, do we want to hear it?"  
  
Pippin was aghast to hear the tone with which Gandalf addressed his cousin, but was equally surprised to hear the way Frodo spoke. The bitter tone was quite uncharacteristic of the hobbit. Then again, would he have not been upset when he, like Frodo said, received not even the slightest semblance of a warm welcome? Siding on his cousin's behalf, Pippin opened his mouth to admonish Gandalf, when the wizard made a sudden grab for Frodo's arm. And set upon his finger was the ring!  
  
Pippin gasped involuntarily. How could this be? "Well," Gandalf said grimly, "we now have the explanation for you physical... wellness... but I would like to hear your reasoning as to why you would do such a thing."  
  
Frodo's eyes narrowed angrily. "I don't know how you can make this out to be a problem, Gandalf. The ring I bear is more of a reason for you to welcome me, not something for which you should treat me with scorn!"  
  
"I pray, do tell me why, Master Baggins."  
  
"Just look about you Gandalf! The brutal destruction! Now that I have the ring, we can use it to rebuild which it once destroyed at the hand of Sauron. The ring itself is not evil, Gandalf, just the one who wielded it. In my power, we shall undo all the evil done unto this world by Sauron!"  
  
"Do you not understand? The ring is Sauron; Sauron is the ring. Why do you think he was deprived of nearly all of his power when Isildur cut the ring from his hand? Did I not tell you, Frodo? They are one. The ring and the Dark Lord. You will never have power over it, but the ring, Sauron, does have power over you. With this ring, you will not breathe life into Mordor. But you will bring death unto all the places you once loved, lay low Minas Tirith, and Helms Deep, until all that was once green and good in this world has been turned to utter ruin. All of Middle Earth shall be as Mordor. Frodo! Heed me! Do not let it possess you!"  
  
Pippin was quite sure after this brilliant speech by Gandalf, Frodo would be immovably convinced that Gandalf was correct. But instead, his opinion turned out to be entirely opposite. "Lovely prose, Gandalf, but misinformed. Sauron is gone. I have overthrown him. With the help of the ring, I might add. How did you come upon this 'knowledge?' How far have you borne the ring? Not half so far as I, I daresay."  
  
"I have had quite enough of this discussion, Frodo. If I cannot appeal to your good nature, (which was indeed a lost cause, seeing as you have none of that left) I will appeal to your desire to live. The future of Middle Earth is at stake, and I have no qualms about killing you if that is what is necessary," Gandalf's eyes told another story, Pippin observed. However, the wizard continued, his voice quite steady, "However, your death is not necessary as of yet. Relinquish your claim on the ring, and we will welcome you back into the fellowship, and our friendship, bearing no resentment against you."  
  
"A clever plan indeed, Gandalf. Or perhaps not, seeing as our dear Samwise thought of the same idea not so long ago. Obviously it takes no great wit to formulate such a scheme. And, I might add, (although you may have already drawn this conclusion, seeing as I am here without severed limps and the ring upon my finger) he did not carry through with his threats."  
  
"I really do hate to tell you this, Frodo, but I am not half so nice or foolish as poor Sam. I am also quite surprised that you would insult the one person who has done nothing but love you his whole life."  
  
Ignoring Gandalf's latter statement, Frodo spat, "Kill me then."  
  
"So be it."  
  
Pippin did not even think as he flung himself in front of his cousin. It was instinct that pushed him atop the hobbit who had watched him when his parents went visiting, read him bedtime stories, played Elves and Dragons with him whenever he asked, baked him fresh blueberry muffins every morning, and looked for him as he hid in one of the many rooms of Bag End. It was instinct that put him between Frodo and Gandalf's blade.  
  
At the same instant Pippin had flung himself upon Frodo, Sam had sprung up from the ground where he had been feinting sleep. He propelled himself towards Gandalf's legs and knocked the wizard flat on his chest, the sword flying out of his hand. Before Sam could even wonder why he had done such a thing, Gandalf had struck him across the face. "Meddlesome-"he began, but then felt a pang of regret. He picked himself up, helping Sam as well. Placing his hand on the offended cheek, which was glowing red but was otherwise undamaged, he said, "Forgive me, Samwise."  
  
There was a loud cry, and both wizard and hobbit spun around. Frodo had gotten a hold of Gandalf's sword, and was struggling to grip the large blade. Suddenly, Pippin was on him, trying desperately to grab the ring from Frodo's finger. Frodo whirled around wildly, striking Pippin in the head with the flat side of the blade. Pippin fell to the ground, unconscious, flat upon his back.  
  
Frodo, however, in his wild rage, did not halt. With a great force, he drove the blade directly into Pippin's heart. When he drew back, all that could be seen of the sword was the hilt, the jewels glimmering brightly as Pippin's blood. Everyone looked upon the figure in horror, for Pippin was clearly dead.  
  
***********  
  
Somehow I have the feeling you all want to drive Gandalf's blade through *my* heart! I am very sorry about this... I am quite the hypocrite because I HATE when authors kill off main characters. If it consoles you at all, it was not the most pleasant thing to write. Part of the reason I took so long with the update was because I was trying to find a way to *not* kill him, but could not think of any other way to keep the rest of the desired storyline intact. I cried when I wrote this, though. I cry for anything and everything. Did any of you see Whale Rider? I was hysterical during that movie. And it wasn't even *that* sad. I'm not even going to get started about how I acted during my first viewing of RotK... and why exactly am I talking about this? I never cease to puzzle myself.  
  
And just FYI, from now on I am going to be responding to reviewers individually. So... please review!!! 


	6. Failure

Yellowrose- Yes, Pippin is dead. I, personally, do not believe in bringing characters back to life once truly dead. For myself. I do not think I have enough talent to make something like that believable. I also to not believe in happy endings, generally. (For my fics, again. If anybody else had a tragic ending, I would skin them alive. And yes, in case you were wondering, I am a hypocrite.) As you can see, the updates will be coming more quickly from now on.  
  
Laurajslr- Indeed, Merry shall not be altogether pleased with the turn of events. Nor will Sam, in case you were wondering. As for Frodo going on a killing spree, I don't think he's going to do that... yet... As I said before, Pippin is going to remain dead. Sorry! He is not entirely gone from the narrative though... I am planning on having some flashbacks, and he will probably appear in some of those. I can promise you that he will not be the last casualty of my writing. I was quite mad at Gandalf myself, but before I could stop him, that part had been typed already and... well, you know how it is. But I can pretty much assure you that Sam won't be doing anything like *that* again... and not because of Gandalf's admonishment...  
  
ElegantArrow64- yes, I am evil by nature. And I will continue to reinforce your assessment of me in future chapters *evil French laugh* ::hon hon hon::  
  
Sami1010220- yes, Pippin. His cheerfulness and the general fact that he was liked by everybody made him the perfect target. I needed a way for all of our good guys to cast aside any sympathy they ever had for him. Sam would have worked as well, except I need him for the plot to continue.  
  
Maikafuiniel- I will try... I promise... *backs away* don't kill me!  
  
Abigail da Jedi- Yes, I am afraid it is true. But as I told Laurajslr, our dear little Pippin will be appearing in some flashbacks. This next chapter is quite short, but after this we will be getting to the good stuff. Promise!  
  
******************  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Sam stumbled, the world spinning before him. All around him was a blur of sound and color, but he was keenly aware of his own body. The way his pulse was pounding in his ears; the way the stones bit his hands and knees as he fell to the ground. Someone was grabbing him, and Sam felt the coarse material of a woolen robe against his cheek, and a gnarled hand holding him close. His eyes burned terribly, and he could feel fiery rivers flowing forth and down his face. The taste of salt assaulted him, and his throat constricted. Suddenly, Sam wretched. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying in vain to shut out the misery about him, but found he could not. Opening up his eyes, the gardener found himself buried in Gandalf's robe, which was wet with his tears and vomit. Sam suddenly realized that Gandalf was still holding him tightly, whispering, "Be calm, Samwise. Be calm."  
  
Sam suddenly felt furious. Why was Gandalf cradling him, giving him his sympathy? It was Pippin who deserved to be held and loved. But they couldn't! He was dead. Dead. The word echoed in Sam's head until if became a meaningless sound that he could not connect to the young hobbit. Pippin wasn't dead! Pippin was outside, playing in the garden, and Sam was telling him, "Mind you don't tread on the daisies, Mr. Perigrin Took." Pippin was watching him intently as he baked the apple pie, telling him that he was so happy that Sam was teaching him, and that when Sam came visiting, he would bake a pie for him, just to show him that he had learned. Pippin was picking cherries from the tree, and Sam was scolding him because they were not yet ripe. And there was Mr. Frodo, laughing, saying, "Oh, don't be such an old worrywart, Samwise. Let the lad have some fun."  
  
Now Frodo was pushing Pippin to the ground and thrusting the sword through his heart. Pippin's blood was running in torrents and soaking into the dirt. Pippin was dead.  
  
"'Twas my fault," thought Sam numbly. He had let Mr. Frodo live, even though he knew that his real master, the one who cherished him and had never raised a hand against him, was gone. Then this monster, this shadow of his old friend who bared no resemblance to his Frodo but in appearance, had killed little Pippin. Cheerful, innocent Pippin. Because of his own stupidity, he had lost two of those most dear to him.  
  
Why was Gandalf holding him, as if he were one who did not deserve his misery?  
  
The wizard was surprised when Sam pulled away from him. The young hobbit looked up at Gandalf with unfamiliar brown eyes, emptied of their innocent curiosity and filled with unspoken accusations and tears. They trailed down his dirt-smudged face, leaving in their wake a hint of the once healthy, tanned skin beneath the dust. He swallowed hard, barely managing to suppress the sob that was threatening to tear out of his throat, and turned away from the wizard.  
  
Sam forced himself to turn his eyes to where little Pippin lay, his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly. A new wave of grief and nausea overtook him, and he struggled to keep his composure. And there was Mr. Frodo, standing over him. Sam had never seen anyone look so helpless before, but he did not waste his sympathies on his master. On Pippin's murderer.  
  
Frodo dropped to his knees beside his cousin's body, and to everyone's surprise, began to weep in terrible, racking sobs. "What have I done? What evil has taken me for me to do such a deed?" With shaking hands, he took Pippin's shoulders and shook them crying, "Wake up! I'm sorry! I'll never do it again! Never, never, never! Oh, please!"  
  
But Sam did not heed these words. An anger possessed him like none he had ever felt. An anger for his master's betrayal, and at himself for allowing this to happen. But, he vowed to himself, he would not make the same mistake again. "He doesn't hear you, and he never will. You killed him! You're a filthy liar and traitor, and this isn't the first murder you've done... you killed my master. You tore out poor Mr. Frodo's soul, and you made me let you live because I loved him! How could you? How..." He couldn't take it anymore. Sam broke into feverish tears. Above head he could here the cries of the Nazgul, circling over them. They would all be gone soon, but this murderer would be first.  
  
Frodo looked up at Sam with wide blue eyes brimming with emotion. "But it is me Sam! I do not know what shadow possessed me, but it is passed, I swear to it!"  
  
"There's nothin' you could say that I would believe, and that's a fact. And if you are listnin', Mr. Frodo, you know this is what I have to do." Sam knelt down beside Pippin, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Pip," and pulled the blade from his chest.  
  
Aragorn could not help but give a small gasp. He instinctively began to stride over to Frodo and Sam, but Gandalf put out a hand to stop him. Aragorn looked at the wizard questioningly, but Gandalf said, "This is something that Sam must do, painful as it may be. It would be wrong to hinder him."  
  
Aragorn bit his lip but nodded, watching in disbelief the one thing that he had thought would never happen come to pass.  
  
Sam strode over to Frodo as best he could with the cumbersome sword. Frodo stumbled backward, fear gripping his pounding heart as the talons of a hawk strangle the life from their prey. "Sam! You cannot do this! Please!"  
  
Sam desperately tried to block out his master's cries. "Don't you listen to that liar, Samwise Gamgee. He's not your Frodo, he's not, he's not..." He repeated these words in his head, as he struggled to master the large blade his hands. Sam swung the sword wildly, but his stroke went wide by several feet, for the weapon weighed heavily on the hobbit's small arms.  
  
Suddenly, Frodo, seeing Sam's lack of skill with the oversized blade, got up and sent his fist furiously to the side of Sam's head. Fresh blood flowed down Sam's already filthy face. Frodo aimed a blow for his servant's stomach, but this time Samwise was prepared. He dodged the blow and attempted to get his free hand about Frodo's neck. But the young hobbit was dizzy from loss of blood, and he instead got a fistful of Frodo's raven curls. Frodo's neck snapped back, leaving his throat exposed to Sam's blade.  
  
Again, the haunting cries of the fell beasts sounded in the bleak sky. Reflexively, Sam pulled his master closer to him, his body still recalling the long months in which he had shielded his ever-weakening master from the enemy. But now... now Frodo was the enemy, and the only action Sam could take was to free his master from the prison that his own body had become and save him from the fate of being Sauron's puppet for the rest of Middle Earth's dark Ages. And to do that, he had to kill him; drive Gandalf's sword into his chest as Frodo had to Pippin.  
  
And yet, Sam's resolve wavered. How many times had he held Frodo in the same way, driving away his fears and whispering clumsy words of encouragement? How many times had he held Frodo like a child, banishing his demons with soft reassurances? There had to be another way, a way in which he could free Frodo from this evil shadow without slaying his dear master.  
  
And suddenly the thought struck him, piercing him like a clear silver lance from the heavens. Sam recalled Gandalf telling himself and Frodo how Isildur had cut the ring from Sauron's hand. Could he not do the same? Indeed, it would cause Mr. Frodo pain, but perhaps one day his master would recover and they would again live together in the Shire. In peace.  
  
Grabbing the offending hand, Sam attempted clumsily to get the sword into the proper position. He raised it above his head, attempting to grip it solidly.  
  
There came a rush of wind, and a sound like the flight of a thousand crebain. Then came a cry, piercing and unbearably earsplitting. With a clatter the weapon fell to the ground, as Sam clutched his ears and clenched his eyes shut, teeth chattering. When he opened them, he beheld his master sitting astride the beast, eyes glinting with a wicked malice. "Ah, my simple servant, you have made the same mistake as poor Pippin. But, as you shall soon discover, his fate was a fortunate one. You will soon be begging me for a passing as easy as his, but that, my dear, is something I will not allow."  
  
The fell beast beat its wings and lifted slowly from the ground. Removing his hands from his ears, Sam found them to be covered in blood. He felt the bile rise once again in his throat. Sam dully heard someone calling out his name. He turned to find Gandalf beckoning to him, crying out furiously, "Come here, you fool! Run! Speed! Speed!"  
  
Sam ran, giving no heed to the resonance of the wings swooping behind him. Closer, closer, closer to safety he ran. Relief flooded over him; he was mere feet from the wizard. Then he felt something gripping his chest, and in panic poor Samwise realized that he was being lifted from the ground. "Nooooooooooooooo!" he cried out in despair. "Gaaaaaaaaaadaaaaaalf!" But it was all for naught. Samwise was caught helplessly in the claws of the fell beast.  
  
**********  
  
So, next chapter we will be getting to the exciting part—lots of Sam torture, hoorah! (I am way too happy about this...) There won't be anything horribly graphic, though. I don't think I could write anything too bad. Now I have a little favor to ask of all of you: can somebody please tell be how to make words bold and italicized? This info is going to be very much needed in the coming chapters. Thanks in advance.  
  
Toodles!  
  
~*Nymredil*~ 


	7. The Dark Tower

Another horrible delay! I am about ready to shoot myself! However, it is not my fault... this time. My computer broke down entirely, and my other one doesn't have internet access. It got fixed last week, but my parents pretty much forbade me from writing anything, for I had to study for the all-important finals. But now summer's here, and I shall be updating at least twice a week! So let us rejoice! I'm also going to start writing some short drabbles and poetry. (I already have I sonnet written... about the ever-adorable Frodo and Sam.) So now... back to The Mind's Entanglement!!!   
  
Laurajslr- I am ever so sorry for not reviewing your fic, but I just read all of the chapters I missed and it was fabulous! My heart practically stopped beating when I thought Strider was going to gulp kill Sam! I will post a review as soon as you come out with your next chapter, so fear not! As for Sam, (not to be giving anything away) he's going to have a lot of things going on to dwell on, but he will still have time for a great deal of guilt. This chapter is kind of a slow filler, but after this, we will be getting to the good stuff (i.e. the angst...)  
  
ElegantArrow- awww... you poor thing... colds are evil! (Although my sympathy is very much wasted, seeing as you must be very much better by now ( )  
  
FrodoBaggins- don't be silly... Of course you want to keep on reading! Will the ending be happy? Well, that depends upon your definition of happy... If you don't keep on reading, though, the question will forever haunt your mind... Not only shall you read, but you shall review as well! Wow, and I feel bad... I have made you wait such a very long time. But you are going to keep on reading... right???  
  
Sami- puppy-dog face tsk, tsk. I am ashamed of you! Sam is quite strong, and certainly not an insult to you! Why, you should be honored to share the name of Samwise the Stouthearted. In my fic, Frodo is the one who is an insult to all who bear his name (and luckily there aren't very many of those...) Perhaps Sam's judgment is clouded by the love he has for his master, but you can hardly blame him. Besides, in the coming chapters you are going to be far too busy feeling sorry for poor Sammie to be angry at him. And I have a feeling that you are going to like Merry, if I ever get to him. He seems to share your convictions as far as treating Frodo with little or no mercy (and I must say, I can hardly blame you for this opinion. It's just that I love my Frodokins to much to share in this sentiment.)  
  
Forever Young- if you have sadistic curiosity, (which is not outside the realm of possibility) it is no worse than mine. Besides, you make me happy, for you are a fellow Frodo Sympathizer! Good for you... you make me proud. (And I'm sorry, but I must ask: are you named for the film in which sweet BabyElijah appeared with Mel Gibson? If indeed you are, my respect for you has been doubled.)  
  
AuraMaiden- I too am a Sam and Frodo fan, and that is exactly why I love to torture them so. They are so fascinating when put into angst-filled situations—and the pair of them (Sam especially) are always at their best when put in situations which test their strength and goodness (although, as of now, they are not faring very well. But I assure you, they will both give a valiant fight before the end. What end?--- read and find out!  
  
Skye12- hehe. This probably sounds weird, but the fact that you are reviewing my fic is (sadly, yes) the closest I have ever come to meeting a celebrity, solely because you are my favorite writer on ff.net (but, assuredly, you shall one day be a best-selling author, so then my absolute elation when you reviewed will not seem quite as bizarre.) And don't feel bad about neglecting your work, for, as I have repeatedly demonstrated, I am the Queen of Neglect. How many weeks (months) has it been since I updated? I dare not think...

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Chapter 7: The Dark Tower  
  
Despair clenched Sam's fiercely pounding heart, and his breath came in great heaves, as he desperately sought for air through his constricted throat. He kicked his legs; beat the air with furious power, but it was for naught. Samwise was vaguely aware of the talon of the fell beast burying itself in his stomach, but more aware was he of the hot blood coursing through his veins than of the stuff pouring forth from his wound. Every nerve in his body blazed, alight with fury and panic, and yet he felt no pain, save that in his chest, which came as a result of his gasping, frenzied breaths, which he could not control.  
  
For the first time in his life, he felt truly panicked, in an unrestrainable, mad way. Sam had felt dread, oh yes. But dread was like the tide; its coming was inevitable, and yet it was slow and calm, and ever Sam had managed to keep it at bay, push it from his mind. But this panic came as a wave; sudden and violent. For the moment, at least, Sam had let go of what purpose he had ascribed to his life. "Protect Mr. Frodo." That had been the one rule to which he could always adhere, the aphorism that had kept him on the right path. The one time he strayed from this regimen, in the shadows of Shelob's Lair, it had nearly resulted in disaster. But what did he have to live for now? With his master gone what barrier lain between him and madness? Everything that he had ever believed in, loved, or adhered to had been twisted by some bestial will, until he had nothing by which he could keep from slipping into an abyss in which love and hate and good and evil were all clouded from his perception by the ever-present shadow on his soul.  
  
But to Samwise, the darkness offered comfort and solace, if only for a moment. His mind drifted slowly into shadow, and he knew no more.  
  
The sounding of brazen trumpets awoke Sam from his merciful obscurity. The hobbit found himself being dragged roughly to his feet by hands, if such they could be called, as cold as ice, spreading their steely chill though the arms which they gripped tightly. His eyes flew open in shock; their hold felt like a thousand crystals of ice piercing his flesh, and twisting so that he would writhe in overwhelming agony. Before Sam could recover from his initial trepidation, he was being dragged unceremoniously to what appeared to be a great throne at the end of a long hall, where sat a dark figure, cloaked in shadow. Samwise was gasping in pain, but acutely aware of the drumming of tens of thousands of feet pounding behind him. An army of orcs, he knew it was, although he could not see them. However, when they reached the threshold, the orcs halted as he himself was dragged in roughly.  
  
The doors closed behind him with a heavy clang that shook the foundations of the shadowy hall. There was now no light, save an unearthly glow that seemed to come from nowhere and illuminate nothing. The entire room, it seemed to Sam, was filled with layers of shadow upon shadow. Some places were more incandescent than others, and yet they were not of light, just another form of shadow in the unfathomable gloom.  
  
Samwise felt his very will to exist be stole away by the pure terror that now occupied his heart. He sought to escape the cold, piercing grip of the Nazgul to the darkest corner of his mind, which still held more luminosity than the chamber of darkness to which he was imprisoned. But he was too afraid, too aware, to accept his fate and calmly drift away on the ocean of obscurity waiting for him ere he faded from the world.  
  
The figure seated upon the high throne was Frodo; Sam had realized that fact ever since he had lain his eyes upon the shadowy form cloaked in a veil of darkness. But now he could see him in painful detail. There was his face, ever beautiful in terms of line and form, but now twisted with a ghostly evil that was indiscernible, and yet ever-present. And yet, Sam noted, his eyes shone with more radiance than anything else in the space. They smoldered softly; no stain lain on them and no evil will sullied them.  
  
When Sam blinked, however, the moment was gone beyond recall, lost in the empty spanning of Past. The last of Frodo's self had been lost with it, or it had been lost long ago, and the soft light that had shown forth was merely another shadow; a cheat created by the hope that had become Sam's bane.  
  
The Nazgul released Sam, and he fell to his knees. His body was for the moment frozen, not any longer from their icy grip, but from his own relief. He drew shuddering breaths as he tried to push the memory of his anguish out of his mind. Funny it was, really, that Frodo's goodness could slip beyond recall so easily, but that the evil of the enemy lingered for so long, plaguing his every thought and breath.  
  
"Samwise," spoke Frodo in a voice so familiar that it pained Sam, making his chest ache dully with the weight of memory thrust upon it. His voice shook with emotion, but hidden just behind Sam's reach, latent under the dolefulness of his speech, was a dark threat, ready to emerge if called upon. "I didn't mean for it to be like this. I didn't mean to use force to persuade you, I swear it to you, Sam! I only... I only wanted you at my side, because I need you! Please believe me, Sam! Everything went so wrong!  
  
"You murdered Pippin," said Sam in a steely voice, echoing through the darkened chamber, ringing with more conviction than had ever swelled from his heart before. Gone was shy little Sam of the Shire, whose devotion to his master had been his strongest attribute, not his bane. In his place stood Samwise the Brave, whose spirit was indomitable and potent. In his heart, he wept for his lost master from the sweet days in the Shire, but no tear blazed in his eye, or would ever again for many a day and through many a trial. For once, no doubting voice answered when he told himself that the figure before him was not his master, but indeed Frodo's murder. "You murdered Mr. Frodo. If you need me, then you shall not have me. Everything you want, I shall deny it to you... never will I aid you. You aren't the master who loves me, so I do not doubt that you will hurt me. But you have already thrown the worst blow you could, by taking my master from me. Nothing you do to me now will ever compare... nothing! You could still prove me wrong, of course. If you want me at your side, rid yourself of that accursed ring!"  
  
"You fail to see the advantages that come with possessing the ring. Perhaps you need to see a demonstration of its power to appreciate what a great asset it is. Let us see... to begin with, I control all of Sauron's former slaves. It was I who saved the ungrateful Gandalf and his company from certain death by ordering the orcs to retreat."  
  
"A lot of good your admirable deed did poor Mr. Pippin," said Sam, uncharacteristically bitter.  
  
Frodo smiled in an unpleasant manner. "You were always a bit slow, Sam. Perhaps you do not comprehend." He suddenly grabbed Sam by the neck, yanking him forward so that their faces were mere inches from each other. Sam could not bear to look into his master's eyes, alight with a bestial fire, so he clenched his eyes shut and turned his face aside as Frodo spat, "I will show you. All of these slaves are mine to command, and you shall soon join them in their thralldom. There is one lackey of mine who I would like you to be acquainted with. He specializes in the art of... persuasion."  
  
As Frodo spoke these words, Sam turned to him, his brown eyes wide in disbelief. This wasn't his master nearly strangling him, he knew, he knew, but no matter how much his mind accepted it, his heart still ached at the thought of his Mr. Frodo, the gentlest and kindest hobbit in the Shire, tormenting him in such a brutal manner.  
  
Footsteps sounded from some passage hidden from Sam's sight. But the echoing of those feet filled him with a deep dread that he could neither explain nor fathom. He knew, or felt, that every time a step fell, it was counting down until he faced his final doom.  
  
And then there stood before him a man of kingly stature, with swarthy skin, and hair the color of night, and eyes like smoldering ash. Not arrayed in armor was he now, but Sam sensed that he was often decked in the garments of war, mostly because he was still wearing one device he used most in battle. About his commanding figure was wrapped a shroud of Fear, so potent and real that it could be seen, looming over him like a shadow. And yet, Sam was disturbingly reminded of Aragorn. Not in appearance, but in his stately bearing, and the depths of wisdom pooled in those dark eyes.  
  
"This is the Mouth of Sauron. However, as you may have noted by now, Sauron is gone. So I give unto him a new name, a true name, not but a title. He is Castellan, and soon the Lord of Isengard. He is, as well, my chief general, although you will know him only as your tormentor, for I believe that you shall be far too busy to give heed to any of his other positions," spoke Frodo ruefully.  
  
The Mouth of Sauron, or Castellan, smiled widely, and washed away any thought that he might be akin to Aragorn in Sam's mind. It was a cold, hard, smile, showing no teeth, and it looked to Sam more like a grimace. "I look forward to being better acquainted with thee, Samwise Gamgee of the Shire. If it please thee, I shall show thee to thy room."  
  
Behind his back Castellan tied Sam's hands, and about his neck he strung a thick rope. Samwise looked up beseechingly at Frodo with wide brown eyes, but his master heeded to him not. Castellan, in his rough hands, took the rope and then began to march down the long passage from whence he came, taking strides that poor Sam could not hope to match. Thus, he ran, and oft stumbled, resulting in his being dragged and nearly throttled before he could regain his footing. And so he was thoroughly exhausted when they reached the chamber in which he would live out the rest of his days in misery, and would have been glad to have halted if only they had stopped in a room more pleasant.  
  
The walls of the chamber were adorned with terrible things, all with cruel metal spikes or other objects of wicked design, the purpose of which poor Sam could easily guess at. The room itself was dark and musty, the air stuffy and dank, carrying a stench that made Samwise think of gruesome things. The floor was splattered with blood here and there, but it seemed that this particular chamber had not been used in a long while.  
  
Frodo now arrived at the doorway. As he surveyed the room, for a moment it seemed that he was horrified, but the fit past as suddenly as it had come, and he looked thoroughly satisfied. "We will leave you now, so you can get yourself settled. And when we return, in a couple of hours, I will make you beg to serve me!"  
  
With a swish of his cloak, Frodo left the room, Castellan at his heels. The heavy metal door shut behind them with a resonating thud, and Sam was left alone in the dark, to contemplate the evil fate that awaited him, ere Frodo's return.

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Well... what did you think? I was reading over the first chapters, which I wrote in December, and I realized that this story has taken me such a damn long time that my writing style has changed a lot For the better or the worse, do you think?  
  
If you were wondering where I got the name Castellan, I'll tell you, because it probably seems a little random. In my school, we had to do this project where we had to create our own civilization. Well I, being myself, got a little carried away. I made up an entire royal lineage (from which I got my name... Nymredil was the name of the first queen) and part of a language. I only made the words for things that were important to their culture. Castellan meant "war lord." I figured it would be really weird to have him called The Mouth of Sauron when Sauron is supposedly dead, so I chose this to be his name.  
  
Chapter 8 is devoted to Merry finding out about Pippin's death, and then in chapter 9, apart from a little not-too-gruesome-Sam-torture, we are going to find out some more details about Frodo's supposed defeat of the Dark Lord.  
  
Speaking of not-to-gruesome-Sam-torture, I am looking for methods by which I could accomplish this. I desperately want to keep the PG-13 rating, but it is going to be difficult. I am searching for ways to hurt poor Sammie without making it too graphic. I recall, one time, my psychotic English teacher was talking about something called Japanese water torture, which involved dripping water on somebody until they go mad. (I admit, I didn't really understand it.) But is that just too weird?-- for it struck me as just that. In other words... help me!  
  
Thank you in advance!  
-- Nymredil  
  
PS: If anyone knows how to embolden and italicize the text, I would be very much obliged.


	8. A Bitter Welcome

Hello everyone! Guess what? It's time for me to do some shameless plugging! Since I published Chapter 7, I have written six other things. Three of them are poems (and one of them is actually about something other than hobbits!!! :O !) and the other three are two fluff-fics: "A Hobbit's Ode to the Creation of the Donut" and "Sam's Farewell to the Beer-Barrel in the Cellar" and a really angsty fic with two chapters called "Friend." So, it is your obligation, yes, every single one of you, to read and review my lovely stories...  
  
And now that that's out of the way...  
  
Yellowrose- ::blushes:: I just decided that I should have the Mouth of Sauron in there because he gets to say stuff like, "Thou art a fool!" I loooooove stuff like that... don't ask why, because I don't know... And as for the italics, my old computer did not have that on the page, but I have gotten a new one and, yes, now I have the ability to italicize. ::Go new computer, go!::  
  
Laurajslr- as I always say, "Computers are made to be broken :P ." I'm glad you think I'm changing for the better; I was just worried that I was sounding too wordy, which does happen sometimes. I was worried that I was beginning to sound like the sorts of writers who try to force themselves to sound eloquent but end up sounding stupid. :P... I hate reading stuff like that! I believe my exams were all good, except for math. O, how I despise Geometry! This chapter has some sad parts, but as a whole, I do not believe that it is as sad as some of the previous and/or upcoming chapters. If you think this fic is depressing now... just you wait... I think the worst thing is going to be that just when everything seems to be heading in the direction of a happy ending... something bad happens. Just felt like dampening your spirits. I have been thinking about the whole torture thing, and I believe I am going to take your advice. I was going to describe Sam's mental anguish more when he was in his cell by himself, but, yeah, I'll just combine them. O, and I'm glad you liked the poem. I'll admit, I like Shakespeare more than most people, but I don't like all of his stuff. Romeo and Juliet made me want to barf. I really only like his sonnets, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and the Tempest. And I've written way too much and really must continue.  
  
FrodoBaggins87- That's quite alright. If you think this is dark, it's nothing compared to what's coming, so it's probably a good idea for you to leave now if you have a weak constitution :P. It's really not going to be bloody/gruesome, if that's what your scared of. I'm really going to be focusing more on the dark emotions of the characters. I also appreciate you telling me that you aren't reading anymore instead of leaving me to wonder what happened to you, which is a brave thing to do (. Maybe you can read it when I'm all done with it, because the suspense is probably the worst part. Frodo is still waging an eternal battle, and is really more of a pawn than you might think. So maybe if you read everything together you cannot be so angry at Frodo, who you seem to hold in high regard, judging by your name. O, well. Goodbye, at least for now.  
  
AuraMaiden- Thanks for your praise! You needn't feel sorry for hurting for poor Sam. That's what you readers are supposed to do. It is I, the author, who has to remain cold and unfeeling. Yeah, as I told Laura, I'm not going for the JWT. (If you read Skye12's review, you'll discover why.)  
  
Pip4- I'm glad you're enjoying it. I live to please! (not really :P) Again, JWT is out of the question, and yeah I think I've heard about that kind of torture too. O, how I hate talking about torture! ::shivers::  
  
Skye12- see, this is why you are my favorite author: you can be eloquent even when you are merely talking about failing an algebra test (I hope it didn't go as badly as you thought... please tell me it didn't...) ::blush::::blush::::blush::::blush::::blush::::BLUSH::!!!!! That is certainly high praise, coming from you! (grrrr... my stupid grammar check on my computer said that it was wrong when I put "laid" in that line, and said that I should put "lain." But there you go. I've always hated computers, and here is yet another reason to add to my already long list.) I really wasn't using that line as a direct description of his eyes, (I tend to avoid talking about them, for the exact reason that you said that you hate most of the long, drawling descriptions of his "blue orbs") but more so as his mental struggle taking a physical manifestation. But, whatever. I'm glad you liked it! And, wow, after that description of JWT, I am certainly not going to use it! And, you know, it's perfectly fine to be long-winded... just look at me!  
  
Forever Young- yeah, Laurajslr suggested the same thing, and I think I'm going to do that. As for the movie, Elijah Wood stars in it beside Mel Gibson and Jamie Lee Curtis. It should be available at your local library.  
  
ElegantArrow- yes, that is pretty much what I am going to do. There are going to be some flashbacks and stuff... poor Sam is in for a rough time, but not an R-rated rough time, if I have anything to do with it.  
  
Socrates- well, I have pretty much decided what I am going to do, so wait and see!  
  
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This chapter is rather short, and I do not like it very much, since I do not think I am nearly as good with these characters as I am with Frodo and Sam. Tips on how to improve Merry's character are greatly appreciated. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------  
  
Chapter 8: A Bitter Welcome  
  
"I fear our doom is near at hand," said Eowyn, her voice but a hoarse whisper, and yet as cutting as a blade. "The darkness might have lifted from the sky, and yet it still lies heavy on my heart, though I know not why. This bright day is but a cheat; a deadly mockery of us and our hope."  
  
"Is it any wonder that you have cloaked yourself in the night?" asked Faramir lightly, referring to the glimmering cloak of deepest blue which he had draped about her elegant shoulders. Of old, it had belonged to his mother. He closed his eyes and sighed, praying that Eowyn did not share in her tragic fate. Despite his grim thoughts, he continued, "You ought not despise hope, even if it is false, for without it, we would have nothing to strive or to live for. Certainly, we would go mad, without any hope to cling to... as did my father," he added quietly, casting his eyes to the ground.  
  
Was that a tear in his eye, or was it merely another trick of the sunlight? wondered Eowyn sadly. She placed her hand in his and said, trying to divert his mind from its sorrows, "Merry was up and about today. He is doing much better, although he is still bitter that his young companion went to battle without him."  
  
Faramir thought that he caught a hint of a smile gracing her beautiful visage, as she shook her head fondly. Putting his arm about her waist, he said, "That halfling reminds me of someone."  
  
Now he definitely saw a smile there, soft and sweet. "Indeed," she agreed, "which was one of the reasons I took to him as I did. He has a true heart and a cunning mind, and he is noble. I could not have asked for a more worthy companion in battle." Suddenly her smile faltered, as grim thoughts played through her mind. "He has his heart set on being a fool now, however, or so it would seem. Merry has taken comfort in the brightness of the day, thinking that the day will soon come when he will see young Pippin. He was in the garden today, prancing about like a child, and tugging on my sleeve (can you imagine?) and asking me, if Pippin should come back today, would he be well enough to ride out and meet him? I told him that I did not know, for it was all I could think to say. Merry proceeded to smile widely and told me, with a great amount of surety, that he knew that he and Pippin were going to be together soon. I told him, rather severely, that he knew no such thing, but he just laughed and said that he could feel it inside of him. Curse this sunlight! Will it so soon drive us all to madness?"  
  
But even as Faramir searched for a way to respond to the lady's grim words, trumpets blazed at the gate, heralding the coming of Aragorn and his company. Eowyn looked to him with shining eyes, daring to hope. Without a word passing between them, they headed down the stairs to the gate.  
  
Not a minute had past when they heard a pair of feet scampering up eagerly behind them. "Greetings, Merry," said Eowyn evenly, without even looking back.  
  
"My Lady!" he puffed in response, all out of breath and fairly panting. "My, you do walk fast!"  
  
"In order to prevent furry little creatures from scurrying along at my feet, good sir. Ah, well, I see that you cannot be dissuaded, so I suppose I can find it in my heart to lessen my pace. What is it that you want?"  
  
Merry, not put off by her words in the slightest, said, with a little hop on one foot for good measure, "Did you see, my lady? They've come! It is as I have said all along! Pippin came back, he did!"  
  
"Need you gloat, Master Halfling? I am aware that it is not very often that I am mistaken, but you ought not taunt me!"  
  
"My sincerest apologies! I forgot how sensitive you were, my dear Lady Eowyn! Pray, do not weep!"  
  
Eowyn swirled around and made a valiant attempt to strike him, but Merry ducked the blow easily and laughed, "Your reflexes seem to have slowed up! Well, that is what comes of lying in bed all day for weeks on end! A pity, really."  
  
Perhaps Merry was lucky that Eowyn was distracted, for she very well may have throttled him, but he never thought of it in that manner. He saw Eowyn put her hand to her mouth and Faramir lower his head despairingly. "What's wrong? What is it?" he asked, fear welling up in his heart, which was suddenly racing, pounding as if it was attempting to free itself from his chest. Dread spread over his body, numbing him, and yet making his limbs tingle with a violent energy. "Pip?"  
  
He could not see, so he angrily shoved his way through the small crowd that had gathered around the company. "Get out of my way! Pippin!"  
  
And there he was, lying on the ground, face pale as ice, eyes closed, and hands folded neatly on his chest. But he was dead, clearly dead. His little Pippin, dead.  
  
For a moment, to Merry, it seemed the world would shatter, that the high shining towers of Minas Tirith, in all their glory, would come crashing down upon him, surely unable to stand on their foundations when such a soul had left them behind, never again to stand so bravely upon their high walls. But the mountains of into the distance did not break like shattered glass, and so it seemed the only thing to collapse was Merry himself, who fell to his knees in shock. He had been so happy... so filled with joy... only for it to end like this, rudely and abruptly, those moments scattered behind him like rose petals on the wind.  
  
No, it could not be! Surely, surely, Pippin was not dead. He could not die, not when he had inside himself so much life. He was always a light; a light that could not be quenched, could not! "Pip? Pippin? Wake up, Pip. I'm here now, so you needn't worry. Please, I'm here! PIPPIN!"  
  
Merry could not take it anymore, he just couldn't! Darkness clouded his vision, so that when he fell to the ground he could not see the white arms that enveloped him.  
  
-----  
  
Sometime later, he was pulled out of his peaceful abyss by those same arms, and by a soothing voice, which did naught to comfort the distraught hobbit. He blinked, and slowly the darkness receded, and he was looking at a Gandalf older and more sorrowful than the one to whom he had said his farewells mere days ago. His head spun painfully. Was it only days ago that Pippin had sat beside him, upon this very bed that had become his prison, and told him not to fret, and promised that they would be together soon? "He promised..." Merry choked, and began to sob. Thankfully, Gandalf did not ask what he was speaking of, for Meriadoc had not the heart to explain his tempest of emotions to the wizened wizard. Gandalf sat quietly and waited for the storm to pass. When it had, and there were naught but some scattered raindrops left to fall, Merry asked in a hoarse whisper, "How?"  
  
Gandalf's eyes shifted uncomfortably, as he searched for a way to tell Merry what had come to pass.  
  
"Gandalf?"  
  
The wizard's only response was the furrowing of his brows.  
  
Merry was suddenly sitting up and shouting angrily, "Tell me! How is it that you live and he does not?"  
  
And so, hesitantly, Gandalf acquiesced.  
  
As Mithrandir recounted the tragic tale, Merry's sadness was slowly but surely replaced by a deep and burning rage. Gandalf concluded, "There was nothing we could do for poor Sam. He will pay even more dearly than Pippin for his foolishness, I fear." Foolishness. The word echoed dimly in Merry's head. It was true; Sam and Pippin were both fools for having mercy upon Frodo, who was worse than a traitor. He would not make the same mistake. He would kill Frodo before he died, he swore to himself. He would avenge Pippin's death; no matter what consequences he was forced to endure.  
  
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As I said, I am not overly fond of this chapter, although I was glad I could lighten the mood for a couple of paragraphs before I returned to my dark and dreary tale. Read and review, please! 


	9. Bonds Forged and Severed

Hey, y'all. This chapter turned out longer than I expected... very long, for one of my chapters. I had it all written out from over vacation, but when I came back and started typing it, it sort of... grew...

---  
  
Disclaimer- I do not own the song that the hobbits sing in the flashback, although I made up the verse that Pippin sings and altered some of the words so that they would fit into this fic. When I was visiting my cousins they taught me this song. I do not know where they got it from; perhaps they made it up themselves. No matter. I still do not own it.  
  
---  
  
Forever Young- ::smiles fondly:: Ah, yes... Elijah was and is the most adorable person on this Earth. ::cuddles little baby Elijah:: And, yes, Merry will become a very conflicted character, but he will have no qualms about killing poor Frodo, if he gets the chance. But, you know, he could be seen as the smartest one, since everyone else would have been better off killing Frodo. Merry always did have the most common sense when it came to making hard decisions like that... plus he loved Pippin more than anyone else so he wants his revenge as well.  
  
Arwenfrodogurl- sorry, can't stop now! And neither can you... you must keep reading! I promise that you will soon have reason to sympathize with Frodo again... just bear with me!  
  
Yellowrose- yes, I can't seem to give any of the characters a break, can I? That sure sounds like someone I know... ::coughs and looks accusingly at yellowrose:: btw, I have been reading and enjoying "At the End of All Things." What a lovely conclusion! I just haven't had the time to review... after I got back from vacation a couple of days ago I had so much to catch up on. But great job! I hope that I can count on something new soon... there aren't enough SamAngst fics out there let alone good ones... and now that both you and Laurajslr finished your fics, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself! You should try writing something shorter... then I can read it faster! Hurry up!  
  
Laurajslr- I'm glad you liked the light paragraphs... I was really close to taking them out because I thought they did not go with the mood of the fic, but I figured I needed to put in some humor, which I also love writing with all my heart. I had a very hard time with all 3 of those characters, and I'm glad you liked them! I had the same feeling about Merry, but I couldn't find anything to fix... I figure I'll get to know his character better as time goes on. And is Merry going to die? Everyone's lives are in danger at this point and some main characters have yet to die, but I will not say if Merry is one of them... but it was very perceptive of you to see that little bit of what might be foreshadowing... I put that out there to make you nervous... I'm glad I succeeded.  
  
AuraMaiden- well, you'll be very pleased with this chapter, because Sam is back! However, I don't know if you'll like how I treat the poor hobbit...  
  
Frodo's Sister- This fic isn't nessisarily about Frodo becoming as evil as the Dark Lord. Remember, Sauron cannot be defeated until the ring is destroyed. However, Frodo claimed the ring (therefore allowing the ring to claim him) when he was under the false impression that he could defeat the Dark Lord by using the ring. However, Frodo miscalculated and is now being controlled by the Dark Lord, but part of him is still struggling against his captor. There will be more detailing of his struggle in chapter 10. I would very much appreciate it if you gave this fic a chance, for I am trying very hard to justify all of my character's actions.  
  
Somebody- Thank you for your kind words. And a definite comparison can be made between Gollum and Frodo. Frodo is fighting against the ring's power as hard as Smeagol, if not harder.  
  
Me- if you read the response I gave to Frodo's sister, that is basically the same thing I would say to you. I have tried to justify every action taken with evidence from the book.  
  
Breck- thank you so much for your series of wonderful reviews! They really made my day! For a while I was getting all positive reviews, but then a bunch of new people came in and told me that Frodo would never become evil, and so on and so forth... It was so refreshing to have a new reviewer to come in and like the story! Well, I'm back to Frodo and Sam now, so I hope that makes you happy... it certainly makes me happy... I love those two! ::huggles Frodo and Sammie::  
  
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Chapter 9: Bonds Forged and Severed  
  
With all of his will, Sam resisted his sudden urge to bash himself against the great stone door that separated him from freedom until it crumbled to dust, having the distinct feeling that such a performance would do him no good. Instead, he crawled into the corner, hugging his legs to his chest and burying his face in his knees. He pushed himself deeper into the corner, and when he could not squeeze his body any further into it, he clenched his eyes shut and began to chant in a low trembling voice, "This is not real. I in the garden, dozing off. This is not real. Any moment, Mr. Frodo will come and wake me with his gentle hand on my shoulder, and his gentle voice in my ear. This is not real." But the image would not take hold in Sam's mind, and melted away like a snowflake in the grip of Udun. _"Mr. Frodo, my dear master, where have you gone to?"  
_  
Voices rose up from somewhere beneath the prison of Samwise, clambering up the rushing stair until they reached his lonely ears. In his darkened corner, Sam slowly lifted his golden head, heavy with the aching weariness that comes with the soul's agony. He stood unsteadily on quaking legs, bracing himself against the cold wall. He found that, if he pressed his ear against the door, he could hear the voices fairly clearly.  
  
"My lord, what thou suggesteth, 'tis naught but a simple beating. Surely thou couldst design something more inventive, at the least?"  
  
"Castellan, I must ask you not to question me or my judgment. All grotesque methods of torture I will leave you to divine, seeing as that is your specialty. However, when I am the one who is dealing with Samwise, I will do as I please. Are you hearing me quite clearly?" Sam's body tensed at the sound of his master's once soft and melodic voice, now hardened with the sound of one who has passed the point where he can feel pain. Panic threatened to rise from within Sam once again when he realized what Castellan was speaking of, and he struggled to maintain his composure. Castellan continued,  
  
"Your pardon, my lord, but I feel the need to tell thee that it has become my firm belief that thou art continuing to harbor some sympathy for the halfling. This must be true, or else he would be much worse off than he is now. This has rung clearly enough from thy speech, my lord."  
  
To stop himself from hoping that Castellan's words held any truth, more than anything else, Sam muttered to himself, "Very peculiar, that is. Why is he so quick to call him, 'my lord' and such, and be so very polite- like? Now, Samwise, if someone had just killed your master, and come and took his place like it was nothing, you wouldn't be so quick to take to him, now would you? Of course you wouldn't, Sam Gamgee, you would be more than a fool to do such. Than why does this Castellan fellow, if that's even his name, let Mr. Frodo come in and do just the same?" Sam was thoroughly perplexed by this question, and decided the Castellan couldn't have liked his first master very much. "And who would? Brrr! The very thought makes my skin crawl!"  
  
While Samwise had been entertaining this matter, there was a loud thump! and Frodo had mumbled something that Sam could not discern from his lofty seat. There was the sound of the shuffling of feet and he said in a clearer voice, "The fool is a traitor, and I do not tolerate the like, as you would do well to note. I will show him not even the smallest mercy until he submits himself back into my service."  
  
It seemed, to Sam, Castellan was not taking notes, for he said without a suggestion towards any hesitation, "Why dost thou care if he serves thee? The halfling is as worthless as the filthiest orc, perhaps even more so. The very fact that thou carest whether he gives his allegiance unto thee is a testament to thy feelings towards him – my lord!" he added hastily.  
  
Sam, cringed, knowing that Castellan had not acted with wisdom. Frodo roared, "If you again presume to question my motives, I will, I swear this to you Castellan, torture you alongside Samwise. And," he added with a bitter tone, "I will be as 'inventive' as my mind allows me."  
  
Sam decided with some surety that Castellan had finally grasped the concept that Frodo did not like to be questioned, for, as far as Sam could hear, the man did not even allow himself a hiss of anger. Samwise pressed his ear more firmly against the door, hoping to hear more of his master and Castellan, if only to distract himself from his predicament. However, Sam was never granted that opportunity.  
  
The door was, suddenly and without warning, flung open, and Sam himself was flung backwards several feet. In strode Castellan, glaring down at him with contempt, and behind him was Frodo, shaking his head in an almost fond fashion. "My dear Sam, some things shall never change, shall they?" The affection in his voice was so terribly genuine that Sam had a very hard time at convincing himself that his master was merely mocking him. It seemed that Castellan was plagued by the same trouble, for his eyebrows were raised so high that they threatened to come flying off above his head.  
  
However Frodo did not take long to dispel all of their doubts, for he continued on the same breath, "How many times must I tell you that only bad little lads drop eaves, especially on their master! You must be a very terrible little boy to do it so many times! It seems to me that I have no choice but to punish you. Come, now." Frodo offered his hand to Sam. When Sam did not take it, but only stared up at his master with fearful brown eyes, Frodo took the hand he had been holding out, and slapped Sam's face with great force. Sam gasped and his own hand rushed to where he had been hit and he held it their as his face smarted and stung. "Castellan!" called Frodo, "I believe I need your assistance with this young hoodlum!"  
  
Before Sam could so much as move, Castellan had him by the wrist, and was dragging him to the opposite wall, where there hung some wicked looking chains with cruel spikes on the cuffs. The poor hobbit recoiled in horror and began to scream as if his very soul were being wrenched from his body. Desperately, he kicked at Castellan's left ankle. As the man fought to maintain his balance, he loosed his grip on Sam's wrist. Without a second thought, he fled to the door, which Frodo had foolishly left slightly open. In a heartbeat, Sam was there, his small fingers working themselves desperately into the small crack that his master had left. He pulled with all his might, now sweating and panting. The door was so heavy! But there! he could almost fit himself through! Just a little bit more and...  
  
Strong hands gripped him, under his arms and lifted him from the ground! Sam blinked, disoriented, as the room seemed to spin around him. The hobbit discovered himself to be thrown over Castellan's broad shoulder. With a mighty cry, he beat his tiny fists against the man's back, and kicked furiously at his hardened chest. But Castellan, who was very surprised by the halfling's valiant fight, had learned his lesson, and was holding Sam tightly, undaunted by his small kicks and screams.  
  
Samwise found himself being thrown roughly against the wall, and all the air was knocked out of his lungs. As he gasped in pain, fighting down the rising nausea in his stomache, Castellan faced him towards the wall and chained both his wrists and ankles. Sam howled in agony, as the small spikes were driven into his flesh, rivulets of blood running down his arms. "Ma-ake him sto-op M-mister Frodo! Ple-ase!" Sam's voice was shaking uncontrollably, and he thought dully that he must be on the verge of hysteria, but he found that he did not care.  
  
His pitiful pleas went unheeded, as Castellan pulled a large crank. Sam's chains were pulled tightly so that his body was stretched out as far as it would go, his feet dangling about a foot off the ground and his arms reaching up towards the ceiling. Sam's muscles screamed as they were stretched and stretched until he felt they would snap. Crack! Pain like cold fire shot from his shoulder through his arm. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying so hard not to think of the pain. _Breathe. Clench. Unclench. Breath. Clench. Unclench. Breathe. Breathe._  
  
Abruptly, the pulling stopped, and Sam was left dangling. Dimly, he heard jumbles of words echoing in his mind until they became mere sounds with no meaning. _He is ready for thee, my lord. Which whip do you believe will suite my purposes the best? That one, certainly but don't you think that thisonehascertainadvantages? Yesbut... Breathe. Breathe.  
_  
"Samwise Gamgee, I shall give you one last chance to avoid what promises to be a thoroughly dreadful experience."  
  
_Master, don't you know me?_  
  
"All you must do is accept your servitude to me, and all this unpleasantness can be avoided. Is this really so hard?"  
  
Sam was in such a state that he could not even pull together a coherent answer. "Murderer," he mumbled, half gone from the waking world.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"Murderer!" Sam cried, loud and sure despite the tearing sensation in his throat.  
  
_Swish! Snap! Crack!_ Frodo's whip fell swiftly onto Sam's back, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. _Mr. Frodo! Why don't you love me no more?_ Pain. Sam had never imagined there could be any pain such as this, so terrible, so complete.  
  
_Swish! Snap! Crack!_ Another slash across his back; another scream ripping through the air. More warm blood running down his body; more sweat trickling down his face. Where was he? _Mr. Frodo, me dear, where have you gotten to?_  
  
_Swish! Snap! Crack!_ The whip sang as it beat upon him in its relentless, persistent pattern. Would it never end? _He's laughing at me_, thought Sam dully, _why does my dear master hate me so? Frodo! Is this my master?  
_  
_Swish! Snap! Crack!_ No, this was not the Frodo he knew, not the Frodo who was always smiling, always laughing...  
  
---  
  
_ Frodo's laugh, or at least, his laugh as Sam remembered it from the faraway days of the Shire, was peaceful and sweet with a strange rippling melody, like lemonade on a hot summer's day. Sam would perk up his keen ears as he knelt in the garden, straining to hear that lovely sound come rushing over the lazily rolling hilltops like a bubbling stream.  
  
It was one of those languid summer afternoons where the stagnant air seems to hum and vibrate, and the occasional breeze whispers soft songs of quiet sleep. Sam was in the garden, blinking hazily as the air seemed to press in on him, heavy and insistent that he lay down his head and drown in the heat of the day. He yawned loudly, and it seemed to disturb the sleepy silence of the afternoon. Even the birds were quiet, too hot and tired to sing their cheerful tunes.  
  
Sam finally gave in and stretched out his body, propping his head up against a tree. He sighed contentedly. Mr. Frodo was away visiting in Buckland, and wouldn't be there to catch him napping in the garden, although, Sam had to admit, even if he were in Bag End he would hardly blame Sam for doing so. Mr. Frodo. For a moment, worry flickered through his mind. On any day other than this, the young gardener would have been beside himself with worry. Frodo had been supposed to be back at Bag End the night before, but had never come. He really ought to- Sam yawned loudly. The afternoon sun would simply not allow him to be bothered. His mind drifted away over the hills and sparkling Bywater Pool and the glowing wheat dancing in the fields to a forest, lush, cool, and green with small pools filled to the brim with topaz waters and small rushes of green moss spilling forth into it. The waving grasses were soft and cool, sprinkled with dew and small, jeweled flowers, blooming with variety and intensity. Sam waded into the shimmering pool with no trepidation, feeling its refreshing coolness wash over him. He had never felt so alive!  
  
He became aware that there was a soft voice hovering in the air, dancing in a brilliant chorus with the birds. It struck Sam after a minute or two that this singing sounded distinctly like laughter, but that realization did not take away from its dryad loveliness.  
  
Now there was a soft, tickling sensation on his nose. Sam ignored it at first, content to listen to the music playing distantly on the wind, but as it became more persistent he gave in and scratched it. But the bebothered itch would not let him be! "Hrumph!" Sam said angrily, and scratched it with a renewed vigor, but to no avail! It seemed now that the laughter was now not at all pleasant, and in fact, seemed like many voices laughing together, loudly and cruelly. Sam opened his eyes.  
  
There was young Perigrin Took squatting next to him, his face only inches from Sam's, a feather in hand. He was snorting in a most unbecoming fashion, obviously trying to stifle his rude laughter. And beside little Pippin was his elder cousin, Meriadoc Brandybuck, who was only two years younger than Sam and was also attempting, rather obviously, to conceal something behind his back.  
  
"Hrumph!" said Sam again, and sat up, not caring in the least that Pippin toppled backwards. He found that Merry was holding an empty water bucket! Sam blinked stupidly and suddenly realized that he was dripping wet with water, no doubt, from Merry's bucket.  
  
Sam jumped to his feet, not exactly sure what he was going to do, only that it would be painful, when he realized that standing over the two cousins was his master, Frodo Baggins. The unfortunate gardener looked down at his soaked, filthy, dirt-ridden body, and his face turned a bright crimson. "M-mister Frodo!" he cried, attempting futilely to brush the dirt off of his clothes (futilely because all the dirt had turned to mud when dear Merry had literally tried to drown him in slumber!) Frodo was still laughing, clutching his sides and shaking all over, his dark curls bouncing with merriment.  
  
"Oi, Frodo! Did you catch sight of this scoundrel sleeping in your garden? What shall you do with him? I would suggest hanging him from this tree by his ankles, although that is only my personal preference..."  
  
"Merry, I know you shall not believe this, but underneath all that filth and grime, that hoodlum is my gardener!"  
  
"Really, Frodo? That is very interesting. I, myself, would have never recognized him due to the layer of mud masking his features. But seeing as he is your gardener, I would suggest firing him straightaway."  
  
Sam goggled and gaped at the group rather unbecomingly, as Frodo laughed some more. "Don't be thick, Sam! We're only joking! I would never even think of firing, especially not for napping on a lazy afternoon such as this. I am told that for most hobbits, sleep is rather inescapable on summer days like today. Just ask Pippin," he said, gesturing to his young cousin, who had curled up on the ground and was snoring gently. Sam smiled shyly as Frodo continued, "I am rather hurt that you think me such an unkind employer that I would in fact fire you for such a silly reason."  
  
Sam blushed, for he hadn't thought of that, and muttered, "Sorry, sir."  
  
Frodo laughed again, and said, "Quite all right, Samwise," and gave him a friendly cuff on the shoulder. He proceeded to haul a wildly protesting Pippin to his feet as he said, "Since I can see that none of us are going to get any work done today, I suggest that we all play a game. Yes, even you, Sam."  
  
"I really must protest, cousin," said Pippin authoritatively and in his most grown-up manner. "I am too old for your childish games. Do you forget that I am now a tween and am not given to indulge in such trivialities?"  
  
Frodo said in an airy voice, "Do not be ridiculous, Mr. Perigrin Took. I am twice as old as you are, and still play games. So, a game we shall play!"  
  
"Mr. Frodo, what game shall we pay?" inquired Samwise with unabashed eagerness.  
  
Frodo took what Sam had privately entitled his "thoughtful pose," where he put one arm across his chest and rested his other elbow on it, and stroked his chin with that hand, his feet planted apart. "Sam," he said eventually, "since we have so rudely embarrassed you, we shall play a game that is very much to your liking," (at this point he seated himself on a bench, and the other three hobbits sat on the ground, gathering in closer with anticipation) "We shall make our own song!" he concluded triumphantly as he watched Sam's eyes go alight with joy.  
  
"But how?" the gardener asked, his eyes wide with awe. Mr. Frodo was the cleverest hobbit he should ever hope to know, he thought proudly.  
  
"Since I am the eldest," answered Frodo, "I shall make up the chorus. Then, we will each make up a verse, and there is our song. Simple!"  
  
The other hobbits gave exclamations of excited agreement so Frodo began,  
  
"Boom, boom! Ain't it great to be crazy?  
  
Boom, boom! Ain't it great to be crazy?  
  
Giddy and foolish the whole day through!  
  
Boom, boom! Ain't it great to be crazy?  
  
"Now it's your turn, Sam," said Frodo. "You have to make up the first verse. Go on!"  
  
Sam blushed profusely and said, "I'd rather you do it, sir, if you don't mind, that is. I'm not sure how I ought to do it, if you know what I mean, sir."  
  
"I suppose I can, Sam, if you want me to. But you must know that there is no way that you 'ought to do it.'  
  
"A horse and a flea and three blind mice  
  
Sat on a curbstone shooting dice.  
  
The horse he slipped, and he fell on the flea!  
  
'Oi,' said the flea, 'there's a horse on me!'"  
  
Sam did not feel at all comfortable, especially after seeing his master belt out lyrics like it was nothing. His face was red, but finally he sang in a melodic, cheery voice,  
  
"Way down south where bananas grow,  
  
A flea stepped on an Oliphaunt's toe.  
  
The Oliphaunt cried, with tears in his eyes,  
  
'Why don't you pick on someone your size?'"  
  
This earned a laugh from the group, and as soon as it had faded, Merry added his bit.  
  
"Way up North where there's ice and snow,  
  
There lived a penguin. His name was Joe.  
  
He got so tired of black and white,  
  
He wore pink trousers to the dance last night!"  
  
Frodo and Sam laughed appreciatively, while Pippin asked loudly, "Why is it that I always go last?"  
  
"Because you're the youngest," said Merry angrily, because Pippin hadn't laughed at his verse.  
  
"Don't you listen to him," said Frodo calmingly, "It is because one must always save the best for last. Don't you know that, you silly Took?"  
  
"Oh, I see," said Pippin, grinning widely as Merry snorted with disgust. He began to sing in his high, sweet voice,  
  
"Way out west where there's peace and green  
  
A gard'ner thought he had met a queen  
  
He got so drunk on her ale and rum,  
  
When he danced with her, he fell on his bum!"  
  
Merry laughed loud and long at this obvious reference to an unfortunate incident of Sam's at the Green Dragon with his sweetheart, Rosie. Frodo raised his eyebrows and looked at his gardener, curious as to what his reaction would be to this stinging insult. Poor Sam was fairly brisling with anger. He stood there for a moment, seemingly debating with himself, and then charged right at Pippin, bringing him to the ground with a heavy tackle and pouncing on his stomache.  
  
"Oi, Sam!" Pippin cried, "You're getting a little heavy there, aren't you?"  
  
"Arg!" answered Sam, and pinned the tween's arms down. He proceeded to tickle the poor little hobbit until he shrieked. Frodo and Merry watched the proceedings with apt fascination. "No more! No more!" Pippin giggled, and finally Sam released him.  
  
As Sam rose, Frodo looked up at him, humor dancing about in his eyes. Sam looked at the ground, feeling a little guilty. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I had to do it."  
  
Frodo too climbed to his feet, and put his arm around Sam's shoulder. "I understand perfectly, my dear Samwise." And he laughed again, so full of joy and merriment, that Sam thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. And the birds were suddenly alive with the glory of the day, and they laughed with him, just like in Sam's dream.  
  
And so, for the rest of the day the hobbits were content and comfortable, until the sun sunk below the horizon, casting them all in her golden hue,  
  
"Boom, boom! Ain't it great to be crazy?  
  
Boom, boom! Ain't it great to be crazy?  
  
Giddy and foolish the whole day through!  
  
Boom, boom! Ain't it great to be crazy?"  
_  
---  
  
As Sam listened to the cruel laughter filling the chamber to the brim with evil, so much that it was a wonder that it did not overflow, he thought to himself, "No, Samwise Gamgee, this is not your Frodo."  
  
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Phew! That was a long chapter! I believe that it was twice as long as any of the other chapters I have written, so I hope it was worth the wait. The first half of this chapter was so awful, I figured I had to give you guys a break with the second half.  
  
I must ask you, with all my heart and soul, to please read some of my other fics. If you liked my little flashback scene, then I highly recommend, "A Hobbit's Ode to the Creation of the Donut," and "Sam's Farewell to the Beer- Barrel in the Cellar." If you like my angst-ridden sappy stuff, then I suggest you read "Friend," although the style is a bit more poetic than in this fic. I also write poems! If you like poetry, check them out!  
  
And that is all from the shameless plugging segment.  
  
As always, review, and Toodles!


	10. Debates and Complications

**Yellowrose**- nope... not a good day for 'ol Samwise... and I hate to say it, but today isn't going to be very different. We shall see exactly what dear old Mouth is up to, but I daresay you shan't like it very much... BTW, I have read every one of your fics, except for "Neither Friend nor Foe," which I hoping to get to this week.

**Skye12**- Thanks! I was hoping to do something to that effect, I just wasn't sure if I was going to pull it off... your words really encourage me! That was a very interesting analysis of EvilFrodo's mindset, but, unfortunately, it is not entirely right. You will get to understand exactly what is going on in this chapter, as will Samwise.

**AouraMaiden**- yes, I am very happy indeed! ::evil laugh!:: I hate to say it, but the others have bigger concerns than rescuing Sam... right now, they just want to get rid of Frodo, and if they can rescue Sam in the process, then it's an added bonus. But as of now, they are looking at the big picture, and are trying not to think about what's happening to Sam.

Oh yeah, are you going to be updating your stories soon??? I'm waiting with baited breath!

**Breck**: Thank you! ::hugs Breck:: You do not know how happy I am to get constructive criticism... I've been asking everyone to give me tips, and you are the first who has pointed out a mistake that wasn't grammar related... you made my day! You are very right about the first sentence... I have a bad habit of being too flowery and long-winded. As for the "arg," I too very much doubt that Sam would say this in a conversation tone. I was trying to make it funny, in a way, showing that Sam had no good response to Pippin's comment about his weight, so he answered him by growling menacingly... hmm, does that make sense? My mind works in strange ways... You know the song??? ::does happy dance:: Do you know where it came from? I am thoroughly mystified... (when are you getting back from vacation? I am longing for an update of your fic...)

**Laurajslr**: Thanks... I feel kinda bad, because in the beginning of the summer I said I'd update twice a week, but that hasn't happened... Yes, this fic is really getting depressing. I have realized, in my time here at , that, although I am better at writing angst, I very much enjoy writing humor, so it's relief for me to put in these fun flashbacks. There's going to be another one in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it! Sam may yet be rescued, but it's (sadly) not on Aragorn's agenda. He's too busy saving the world. And, yes, I do have it all planned out in my head; it's just the putting of my ideas into words that is the problem.

**Me**: That is the understatement of the century, make no mistake.

**Socrates399**: Thank you very much! That was a great quote; it really made me happy. And it's so true, too! (no, it's best if you don't think of how it will end. I'll just say that there is a reason that I put this fic in the "tragedy" category.)

**ElegantArrow64**: ::evil laugh:: I'm glad I have succeeded in manipulating your emotions so very well! No, I do not feel the least bit guilty... ::hides her face so everyone cannot see her "guilty-face"::

**Master**- Indeed, Frodo has been a very naughty little boy... but will he be justly punished? Read and find out!

**Forever Young**: I'm glad you liked the flashback, because there's another one in this chapter... I just can't bear writing angst for too long.

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Chapter 10: Debates and Complications

Eventually, Sam slipped into the blissful nothingness of unconsciousness. He drifted through in and out of dreams; all were full of desperation and pain. Tortured screams split his ears and bloody images assailed his eyes. Again and again he saw the sword plunging into Pippin's chest. Innocent Pippin, who had done nothing but love Frodo until the last.

Waking, although a mere continuation of Sam's dreams of terror, was inevitable, and came upon him slowly. So alike were his nightmares and his reality that poor Sam could scarcely tell when he had truly awoken. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to take in his surroundings, but found that his lashes had been crusted with dried blood. The hobbit attempted to wipe his eyes, but that too he found impossible, for his wrists, along with the rest of his body, had been bound securely too a cold stone table of some sort, so that he could scarcely twitch a muscle.

Blinking with fervor, Samwise managed to clear his eyes (somewhat) of the dreadful stuff. Still, his vision was terrible blurred. A dark shape was moving about the room, but Sam could perceive him as but a large storm cloud drifting on the horizon, so clouded was his vision. "Mr. Frodo?" he asked, his voice trembling and uncertain.

It was Castellan who answered, however, saying, "Terribly sorry as I am to do so, my dear halfling, it is my regretful duty to inform thee that thy master hath grown tired of thy pathetic groveling, and departed some time ago. Thou art a waste of his time, which he can ill afford. Thou wouldst find, if thou didst ever aspire to rule Middle Earth, that one is left with very little time for play, when one is shouldered with such hefty responsibilities. This turn of events is doubly unfortunate for thee, for now thou art at my mercy, of which I find I am at a much shorter supply than thy dear master."

Sam did not like the sound of this talk at all, although he scoffed inwardly at the idea that Mr. Frodo, in his current state, was merciful at all. His eyesight, to his relief, was beginning to clear, but when it did he was not so sure that _that_ was a mercy either. To his left, there was a fireplace with a great bubbling cauldron set atop the flames. Whatever was in it was splashing and sizzling, sometimes spraying out and burning Sam's skin painfully. Adjacent to the fire were many metal tools, some sharp, and others resembling brands. To his right there was a table upon which lay an assortment of small knives, all sharpened and gleaming, some curving wickedly and others keen and whetted. The gardener quailed as he thought of what Castellan might be planning to do with these cruel objects.

For most of his life, Sam had thought very little of physical pain, finding that he could endure it if he willed it enough. But the pain that he was experiencing now was so terribly unbearable, so vivid and burning, like a brand to his flesh! The thought of having to go through all of the tortured agony again made Sam nearly delirious with fear. One thought pervaded his mind: to delay the pain as long as possible. The longer he could avoid the misery, the longer he could live. As he saw Castellan fingering one of the small daggers, he spoke the first thing that came to his mind; "Begging your pardon, but I don't see how Mr. Frodo is being merciful at all, Mr. Castellan."

For a moment, Castellan's hand hovered over the blade. Suddenly, to Sam's relief, he withdrew it, and began to laugh. "To thy simple mind it may seem so, halfling," he sneered, "but after I have my way with thee, thou wilst be begging for thy pathetic master. And, I might add, when thy dear Mr. Frodo is absent, I prefer to be called by my proper name: The Mouth of Sauron. Castellan, I shall admit, is quite an endearing name.  
It means 'warlord' in an ancient tongue, and was quite an interesting choice. However, I prefer my true identity."

"But- but he's dead! Mr. Frodo said so! And he said that you were to be called 'Castellan,'" Sam stuttered in surprise, while still concentrating with all his will on keeping his tormentor's hand away from the knives.

"Are all halflings as foolish as thee and thy master?" asked The Mouth of Sauron casually, placing his right hand on Sam's left shoulder and looking down on the hobbit with amusement. "Didst thou truly believe that a wretched child such as thy master could contend with the will of Sauron? I shall say that he did succeed in briefly striking fear in his heart, and caused my master to take measures that he had long been trying to avoid. But whether or no, he shall indeed emerge victorious!"

Samwise was nonplussed, and painfully arranged his bruised face in what he hoped was a puzzled manner.

Sauron's servant struck the halfling hard across the face and shouted, "Dost thou truly need me to lay it out for thee in the simplest of terms?" He elicited no response from the terrified hobbit, who merely stared up at him with wide brown eyes. The Mouth of Sauron shook his head and said, "Allow me to make it quite clear for thee. Thou knowest, of course, that Sauron bound his life force to the ring, which is why he is able to survive as long as does his precious trinket. As of yesterday, he had also been gathering another means of power, and had manifested himself as the Great Eye. Of course, thy master came and saw fit to challenge him. Loath as I am to admit it, there are times when even the great Sauron can act rashly, due to panic. In the past days he had seen his great schemes crumble to dust. He had been made a fool by the heir of Isildur, whose line he had long thought to be broken. Sauron had also believed that the King of Gondor would wield his mighty weapon, so to find his carefully weaved tapestry so close to unraveling was quite unnerving, to say the least. My master sought a way to befuddle and bemuse his enemies, so he poured every last fiber of his will into his one ring, and overthrew thy dear 'Mr. Frodo's' mind. Thy master had long been of two minds, so part of the halfling acquiesced to him, easily swallowing the lies he had been fed. As would be expected, the untainted side of Frodo fought madly, but was no match for Sauron's will of iron. Now, the part of thy master that is weak and gullible still believes that what he is doing is for the best, but I expect that he will soon see his fatal error. Of course, by then, Sauron's hold on his mind will be too great, and all that is left of thy poor employer shall be driven into the darkest corner of his mind, where he shall eternally dwell in torment and lamentation for the companions he unwittingly betrayed. And thus he shall remain; an empty shell and helpless puppet for the Dark Lord to bend to his will, until this world comes unto its end."

Well, I am sure that it goes without saying that this discourse rendered Samwise quite speechless. His mouth hung agape with trepidation and awe. At first, Sam had been merely bewildered by the Mouth's talk of "being made a fool by the heir of Isildur" and "great tapestries unraveling" but when the dreary monologue turned to "Frodo's mind being overthrown" and "dwelling in eternal torment," Sam began to fearfully heed his words.

"Well, now that we have that matter out of the way, we can engage in some merrymaking," hissed The Mouth, with all the sugary sweetness of a lemon. Sam found himself at a loss for words. He could no longer delay the inevitable, so he tried with all of his will to prepare himself for the agony that awaited him.

The Mouth of Sauron picked up a small, curved blade and twirled it delicately in his long fingers, watching Sam's reaction with relish, and saying, "Long have I studied the science of torture, experimenting many times until I found the most painful methods. Through much trial and error I have discovered the places where one might be stabbed to exact the most suffering, without causing fatal injury. As I demonstrate my methods unto thee, I ask thee to appreciate the long hours that went into perfecting this art."

With a flash of silver, the Mouth plunged the knife into Sam's belly. He howled in pure agony and writhed futilely in his bonds, as Sauron's servant fingered another dagger. "Save me! Mr. Frodo! Pleeeeeeaase!" But no one was there to answer his pathetic cries.

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Sam's voice carried down many flights of stairs, filling Frodo's bedchamber with echoes of unspeakable agony and torment. Shaking violently, he crawled under the covers and pulled them over his head. That done, he proceeded to pull his knees to his chest, cover his ears, and weep. "Go away," he whimpered, "Please, just leave me be!"

"You did it for his own good, you know," another part of him answered back, "He shall regret his refusal to comply within a matter of hours, and he shall serve you once again."

"I do not want Sam to be a servant bound to my service by fear; I only want him to be a friend bound to me with love. This is now, of course, impossible. Why? Why must you torment him?"

"Why must _I_ torment him? My dear, I believe you have failed to take note that I am a part of you. _You_ are torturing him."

"Liar! You were never a part of me!"

"As you wish. It will soon become clear that I speak the truth, so there is no use in arguing with you."

Another scream ripped through the air, and Frodo shuddered violently beneath the covers. His eyes darted about the room in fear. It had been the grandest of Castellan's many rooms, and he had been quick to commandeer it, but to Frodo's hobbit eyes, it appeared menacing and unfriendly. Now, with cries echoing off the chamber walls, it was a very ghastly place indeed.

"No, no! Don't! Please!" Then there was another blood-curdling shriek. The air seemed to vibrate around Frodo, filled with a sense of pain that was almost palpable.

"What is Castellan _doing_ to him?" Frodo wondered aloud. "I thought I told him not to hurt Sam anymore today..."

"Did you actually think you could trust him? You fool! He is Sauron's servant, not yours! My poor Sam... how could I treat you so?"

_The Mouth shall break him. I shall make Samwise mine, just as thou art mine. You will allow him to carry on._ From nowhere this new voice seemed to rise, low and menacing. It rumbled, soft, and yet unbearably piercing.

"But... I don't think I want to..." Frodo whispered. Suddenly, a terrible fear began to rise within him, and at once he saw that he had made a series of fatal errors. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," he murmured quietly.

_So be it._

Blinding pain crashed over Frodo in a violent wave. His very soul was wrenched from his body, and he felt as if his every limb was being stretched and torn. His body was on fire, and his every fiber was screaming in agony. And then, in the time he could have blinked... there was nothing.

Frodo was blind and deaf. A vast abyss lay out before him, and he felt as if he were both everywhere and nowhere all at once. He could not feel anything- not even those sensations he once had felt unconsciously; the feeling of his curls brushing against his face, his tongue resting against his teeth, or the clothing sitting on his back. Frodo was not blinking breathing, and yet he was aware. He could still think, worry, and mourn. He despaired for Sam, and yet no tears could he shed. Frodo let out a long and painful scream that echoed dimly within the chambers of his mind.

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_Time did not exist in Frodo's world. He did not know if he had been exiled for minutes or eons. He found that he could pass his time, as it were, by holding debates with himself. He would both blame himself for what happened and defend himself against the charges. When he grew weary of this, Frodo would write poetry and songs with surprising ease. The words flowed easily through his mind, and he could memorize them in an instant._

_These simple games were played only as a distraction from his darker thoughts. Where was Sam? Had he died, or was the innocent gardener still living in agony? "I wish I could see him again," he whispered, "I wish I could tell him that I am sorry."_

_One day (if you'll pardon the expression) Frodo made a delightful discovery. He had easy access to every corner of his mind that Sauron had no use for. This meant that he could easily step inside his childhood memories and relive them, as if he were really there. Frodo took great pleasure in this pastime, sometimes allowing himself to live days at a time before returning to his own darkened realm and brooding, wondering how it could have all gone so wrong._

_Some of his favorite memories were with Sam; sunlit days spent lazily in the garden, with a jug of chilled tea and a cozy book to read. The little gardener would oftentimes crawl up beside him and ask him, blushing as red as his roses, what he was reading. Frodo, who had longed for companionship since he had left Buckland, would smile and translate it for him. In this way, they formed a tentative friendship._

_One sunny afternoon, Sam ventured up to the door of Bag End and knocked hesitantly. "Yes, Sam?" said Frodo in a raspy voice as he opened the door and looked down on the small figure on the threshold._

_Sam gazed up at Frodo, his brown eyes fairly popping from their sockets. His master was a terrible mess. His shirt, which was buttoned up quite untidily, was all wrinkled and dotted with stains. Frodo's chocolate curls were even more unruly than ever, and looked as if they had not seen a brush in centuries. Both his nose and his eyes were a sickly red, and his skin was a pallid white. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam yelped, "Why, begging your pardon, but whatever is the matter, sir?"_

_Frodo wrinkled his crimson nose and said, "I must be quite a sight! But, no matter how dreadful I look, I truly am fine. I've just been battling a troublesome case of the sniffles for the past few days, and I think I may have finally conquered them. Anyhow, what is it that you wanted Sam?"_

_Sam tried to stop goggling at his master and cleared his throat. "Well, me gaffer says that if you're not needing me, I could take my leave. Is that alright with you, sir?"_

_"Well, if you wish to leave, it is perfectly fine with me. But Sam-"(at this point his voice got very low and secretive, and he knelt down so he could whisper in his servant's ear) "have you ever been inside Bag End?"_

_Sam shook his head, wondering vaguely where this was going to lead._

_"Would you like to see it?"_

_Sam's eyes darted about nervously, as if he was about to commit an unspeakable crime, and then he inclined his head slightly, in a manner barely perceptible, but to Frodo this clearly meant "yes."_

_Abruptly, Frodo stood up, brushed the dust from his knees, and said, in a manner that was all business, "Very well then, Samwise. Go tell your Gaffer that I need you to help me here in Bag End. And be quick about it."_

_Sam was very much befuddled. Was his master really going to make him clean up in Bag End? But, somehow, he didn't think that was the case. "But Mr. Frodo," he said timidly, "isn't that cheating?"_

_"Cheating? Cheating? Do you truly think so lowly of your master that you would see fit to accuse him of cheating? Trickery would be a much more appropriate term. We really must expand your vocabulary, Samwise." Frodo winked and walked away, shutting the lime door behind him._

_A couple of minutes later, Sam was in Bag End, and was quite sure that he was going to die from giddy excitement and glee. He would have never guessed that a household could look so grand. Everything was so shiny and new, and very mysterious! Frodo watched the young gardener with amusement and a small degree of sympathy as he eyed all the glorious objects with awe. Sam was delighted with the simplest of things, like the glass jug of lemonade on the counter, or the intricate whicker basket full of fresh fruits. What was it like, Frodo wondered, to grow up as Sam did, with a house full of siblings that your parents could scarcely afford, and being only able to purchase the bare necessities for living? Of course, he noted, the Gamgees were much more well off than they were two years ago, for all of Sam's older brothers had moved out. No one in the Shire was what we would consider "needy." There was no risk of starvation or losing your home in that peaceful land. However, Frodo observed, one must be rather poor if he is impressed by a whicker basket._

_Frodo's musings were interrupted as they entered his bedroom. "O, Master!" Sam cried in terror, "What have you done to this room? What a mess!"_

_Frodo raised an eyebrow and Sam added, "Begging your pardon, sir!"_

_"I, personally, do not care, but if it really bothers you so much I shall clean it. Why don't you run along to the kitchen and help yourself to some peach cobbler? It is quite delicious."_

_Sam shook his head fervently. "No sir," he said, "It'll go much faster with two than just one."_

_Frodo shrugged, eying his room with great distaste, "Suit yourself."_

_The pair had been cleaning for less than five minutes when Sam gave a great cry. Frodo stopped gathering used tissues and looked about the room for the gardener. He found Sam beneath a mountain of blankets. "Sam," he laughed, "What are you doing?"_

_"Well, sir, I found this-"(he held up a small, misshaped trinket) "-under a pile of tissues. I didn't rightly know what it was, but it didn't look very useful. When I clean my room, I always put the things I have no use for in my closet. So, Mr. Frodo, I opened up your closet, and all of these blankets fell on me!" He paused for breath and then continued, "But bless me, Mr. Frodo! You do have a lot of blankets--- and pillows! Why, master, with this many bed linens we could make the greatest pillow fort in Hobbiton!"_

_A grin spread across Frodo's face and he said, "My dearest Samwise, you are a marvel! What a splendid idea!" Sam blushed and stared intently at the ground, muttering something indiscernible. And so they set to work._

_In what seemed to be many hours later, after much toil, they looked proudly upon their magnum opus. It was brilliant indeed--- a great catacomb of linens nearly spanning Frodo's entire bedroom. "Well, Samwise, would you like to have the honor of being the first to set foot inside?"_

_"But Mr. Frodo!" said Sam with indignation, "we can't go inside yet!"_

_"And, I pray, why ever not?"_

_"Because there has to be a reason for us to be there, sir!" said Sam, surprised that Mr. Frodo hadn't foreseen this. "We have to have some sort of game to play, if you understand me, or else we'll just be sitting and twiddling our thumbs, so to speak."_

_"Sam, you are much more brilliant than you give yourself credit for! Of course! Why did I not think of it? Here, Sam, I have a proposition. Why don't we pretend that we are Bilbo and Gandalf running from the goblins in the Mines of Moria? I'll be Gandalf and you be Bilbo, alright?"_

_"That's a fine idea, master, but what of the dwarves?"_

_Frodo gave an elaborate shrug, "We don't have nearly enough people to be the dwarves. Besides, they didn't do much of anything, did they?"_

_"No, sir, that they did not."_

_"It's settled then." Frodo paused and then added, "And then after a bit of that, you'll have to be separated from Gandalf and play the riddle game with Gollum. Too bad old Bilbo is out today! He does a nasty imitation of Gollum. Oh well, I suppose I'll have to be Gollum as well."_

_"Mr. Frodo, do we really have to do that part? That old Gollum gives me the shivers!"_

_"Of course, Sam! Gollum is an essential character!"_

_"If you say so, Mr. Frodo."_

_"I do. Now, come along, let's get on with it!"_

_The pair of small hobbits crawled beneath the canopy of blankets, and the game was afoot. "Watch yourself, Bilbo!" cried Frodo in a deep voice, "There is a hoard of goblins on your tail!" His fingers scampered up Sam's back, giving Sam the impression that there were a million spiders crawling along his spine. He squealed in delight and cried,_

_"Save me, Mr. Gandalf! The goblin chief is coming right for me!"_

_Frodo sighed and shook his head. "Time out," he indicated and then continued, "Sam-lad, you really must remember to stay in character. Bilbo would never call Gandalf 'Mr. Gandalf,' alright?" Sam nodded apologetically. "Time in."_

_The proceedings went like so for the better part of a half-hour. The hobbits soon grew tired of this sport, and Frodo said, "Alright Sam. Now you pretend to fall down, and I won't notice. Then you crawl around for a bit and then you find me in my boat. Then we play the riddle game, and then you run away with the ring, understand."_

_"Yes, sir," said Sam, with a great degree of trepidation. Suddenly, the stuffy darkness of the mines seemed to press in all about him, and he was shaking with dread. "Maybe it wouldn't be so scary if it wasn't so dark!" thought Sam, and he said aloud, "I'll be back in a minute, Mr. Frodo. I just need to get something!"_

_"Be quick about it!" said Frodo, "Bilbo might be coming back soon, and if he sees my room in such a state he shall have a fit!"_

_"Yes, sir," agreed Sam, and he scampered off._

_Some minutes later, the small gardener returned, with a lighted candle in hand. He had wanted to get a lantern, but had been unable to find one. "O well," he thought, "this will have to do." He crawled beneath the blankets and sighed with relief. Everything looked much friendlier when bathed in the warm glow of his candle._

_Suddenly, Frodo shouted, "Save us! Sam, Sam, quick! We've had a cave-in!" The small hobbit crawled to his master's side as quickly as possible, and the pair attempted to mend their masterwork. However, it was no easy thing. As soon as they had secured one blanket, another collapsed. And that, unfortunately, gave rise to a greater problem._

_"Sam, do you smell smoke?"_

_"Bless me! Mr. Frodo, that sheet's caught fire! Ninny-hammer! What was I thinking?"_

_"Hush, Sam! Come on, we have to put it out! I'll go fetch some water--- you try to smother the flames. Take care you don't hurt yourself!"_

_Frodo ran like all the goblins of Moria were in close pursuit. He grabbed the jug of lemonade. Deciding that he did not have time to fill it with water, Frodo scampered back to his room, where Sam had put out the candle and managed to contain the flames to one small area. The poor thing was slapping them repeatedly, crying out "Ah! Ah! Ah!" in two-second intervals. Frodo hastily poured the lemonade over the sheet in question and he sighed with relief as the last of the flames went out._

_"Come along, Sam-lad, no time to lose! We have to clean up this mess before Bilbo---"_

_---There came a rattling as someone fiddled with the doorknob and a creak as the door was slowly opened. Sam's eyes were filled with dread. "Mr. Frodo," he whispered, "I think we're in trouble." Frodo gulped and nodded, unable to exact any more of a response._

_"Frodo? My goodness, what is that smell? Have you been trying to cook again, lad?"_

_A trembling Sam tightly hugged Frodo's arm as Bilbo made his way to Frodo's room. Bilbo peeked through the doorway and gasped. "What the blazes happened in here, Frodo? And you, Samwise Gamgee, what are you doing here?"_

_This was too much for poor Sam, who burst into feverish tears. "O, I'm sorry, Mr. Bilbo! I'll never do it again, sir! Please forgive me!"_

_Bilbo's angry scowl slowly lifted from his face. "Now, now, don't you fret, lad. My bark is worse than my bite. But really, what were you two thinking?" He looked from the burnt sheet to the candle to Sam's singed curls. "And whose bloody idea was it to bring that in here?"_

_Sam began to shake even worse, like a leaf in the rain. Maybe Mr. Bilbo was not angry with him now, but he would be furious when he learned that it was Sam's fault. He gulped and prepared to confess when Frodo said in a small voice, "It was my fault, Uncle." Sam looked up at his young master in wonder. Why was he doing this? What if Mr. Bilbo disowned him and sent him back to live with those strange folk in Buckland? He had to tell Mr. Bilbo the truth; nothing could be worse than Frodo being sent away!_

_However, Bilbo was already leaving. He said, "I'm glad you owned up to the truth, lad. That was very brave of you. Very brave indeed. Now, you clean up this room, and I'll not say anything else about this incident. Sam, you can run along home and fix up your hair before your Gaffer sees it." And to Sam's surprise, he chuckled._

_Little Sam was quite abashed, but he managed to say, "If it's no trouble to you sir, I'd like to stay and help Frodo clean up."_

_Bilbo nodded and said, "That's perfectly fine with me. Thank you, Samwise." And with that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him._

_Finally, the two lads allowed themselves a sigh of relief. "I thought we were dead," admitted Sam easily. He then looked up at his master with questioning eyes. "Why'd you do that, Mr. Frodo? You know, take the blame and all."_

_Frodo shrugged. "Well, it really was my fault, you know. I am twelve years older than you, and I should have known better than to allow you to bring that candle in there. I knew better, but you didn't."_

_Sam nodded. This made sense, but he still had more to say. "But sir, what if Bilbo sent you back to Buckland?"_

_"Well, Sam-lad, I thought that there was more of a chance of you getting fired than me getting disowned."_

_"That's true, sir."_

_They worked silently for some minutes, but Sam broke the calm. "Mr. Frodo?"_

_"Yes, Sam?"_

_"You're the best and kindest person I ever met, and that's the truth."_

_Frodo did not know what to say. No one had ever complimented him so sweetly and sincerely before. To his great astonishment, Sam hugged him tightly and said, "You're the best friend I ever had." Frodo felt very awkward, and did not quite know what to do. He knelt down and hugged the little gardener back, getting a face full of golden curls. Frodo breathed in and coughed._

_"My goodness, Sam! You're hair is full of ashes! We had better get you cleaned up; your Gaffer would have throw a hissy-fit if I sent you home in such a state."_

_Samwise giggled, and they carried on with their chores. But from that point on, he cared for his master like a brother, making sure Frodo was always under his watchful eye. As he got older, Frodo grew less inclined to spend his time with his younger servant, as he made older friends. But he always had the gardener's undying admiration, and he would later cringe to remember how he took Sam's devotion for granted._

_Frodo was brought back to his painful reality. In the past months, he had truly begun to appreciate everything Sam had sacrificed for him, and he had sworn to himself that when he was able, he would compensate for everything Samwise had given._

_"Is this how I paid him back?" lamented Frodo aloud, "With agony and misery? My dear Sam, what have I done to you? What have I become? Sam, Sam, please forgive me! Forgive me!" But Sam could not hear his pleas, and even if he could, Frodo doubted he would heed them. Sam was going to die; he might have been dead already, but when he did pass beyond the circles of the world, he would harbor nothing but hatred for his master._

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Woohoo! Another long chapter! I hope you all liked it!

**Important Notice**: For those of you who don't get an email alert when I update, I'm going to be changing the main characters of this story from just Frodo and Sam to everyone. This means that when you look for updates, it will no longer be on the page for Frodo and Sam, but on the main page, which means that it will be rather hard to find. So I suggest you either get a story alert or keep your eyes peeled. I know that most of you are Sam or Frodo fans, and you probably want to know why I'm changing the classification. Don't worry... the two lovable hobbits are still the main characters, but we're going to be seeing a lot more of everybody else in the upcoming chapters, so I want to make sure I'm getting as many readers as I possibly can. If, after I post chapter 11, it was too difficult for you to find, just tell me and I'll switch it back.

That is all! Please review!

Toodles!


	11. Plotting the Course of Action

Salutations, my esteemed readers! I would like to tell you that the latest delay in my story was due to many things, the least of which not being the advent of school. In addition, I wrote, directed, and starred in my own short film, along with my cousin. It was a quite un-brilliant production; it started out as a moving drama, but halfway through, the cast (which included my cousin, my mother, and my brother) and I decided that my dreams of an Oscar would have to wait until I got a budget over the balance of $0... so it turned into a parody, and (IMHO) it wasn't half bad. I'm thinking about making myself a website (something I have neglected to learn how to do as of yet) and post it there, along with some of my writing, much of which is original and you have not read yet. If I ever get around to it, you are all going to have to go view it... I'll alert you if I ever accomplish anything.

Anyhow, that's enough in the way of self-indulgence... here's chapter 11! Frodo and Sam don't make an appearance in this one, but everyone is talking about them, so it's not as if they are not influencing the entire course of events... After this chapter, the plot is really going to start moving, and the two groups of characters are going to come together... so everybody is going to be in the rest of the story... unless somebody dies, of course... Actually, I've decided that the plot is going to change so much after the next couple of chapters, that I am going to make this into a trilogy, because some of the events are nearly completely independent of what happened here. So the resolution of this fic is going to come in about three chapters, but I'll have the next part up right away. Sorry for the inconvenience.

**Yellowrose **: Thank you for your lovely review. By the way, your analysis of the situation right now is right on track! Yes, I have thoroughly enjoyed all of your stories... are you going to be starting anything new? I can't wait to read more of your work!

**Breck** : As I said, this is my last chapter without our two intrepid hobbits. It is also (although I hate to say it) probably going to be the shortest and most boring chapter of the whole thing. It is basically just a transition, summing up the seven years that passed since Frodo claimed the ring, and explaining what Gandalf is planning on doing. It just sets up what is going to be happening in the next chapters, which will be much more interesting! I'm glad you liked the way I wrote the ring... I was afraid that my theory (and therefore the entire plot) might be flawed, because I did not retain much information from the Silmarillion. This complement is especially flattering coming from you; your description of the ring was deep and absolutely stunning! Can I hope for an update to your fic soon? Yes, I like criticism as long as it is civil and coming from a well-informed person--- and your criticism is just this! And I agree with most of it... except for your criticism of, "I am quite sure it goes without saying..." It is not that rare for an author to commentate like that... Tolkien did it repeatedly in "The Hobbit." Perhaps it was misplaced in such a somber passage, but it certainly can be done. I'm glad you like the bit about Frodo "commandeering" the bed--- commandeering has been my favorite word since I first saw "Pirates of the Caribbean!" Thank you so much for your compliments--- your reviews make my day! Sorry, I didn't exactly give you a quick update, but you haven't given me one either! ::cracks whip:: "Get to work, you scum!"

**AuraMaiden **: Well, I've done the best I can to show that Gandalf, at least, cares about getting Sam back, but he certainly isn't going to be the centerpiece of any plan they concoct. You moved? Aw... I don't ever want to leave my house... ever, ever, ever, ever! (What shall I do when I must attend college, I wonder?) Hmm... I'm going to have to check out your stories; I haven't been of in a while!

**ForeverYoung** : Well, we get a little bit of Merry in this chapter, but he doesn't become a major player for a bit... but he will complicate things and give everybody much angst.

**Laurajslr** : Wow! All of your thoughts reflect exactly what I was hoping to convey in this chapter! Thanks for the huge boost of confidence... I'm feeling a bit down in the dumps right now... school. Plus, I despise this chapter with all my heart and soul, but it is important to put it in, in order to make a transition to the better chapters. Oh well.

**Goldenleafwriter **: Greetings! Thanks for dropping in to leave a review... lately I've been having trouble getting new people to start reading... and such a lovely review! Yes, angst does stir up a lot of emotions, and that's why I like to write it... I think that a good story should make you feel deep emotions for the characters. I am glad I have succeeded in doing that!

**Skye12**: Hey! I thought you had died; you hadn't updated or reviewed for a while... sounds like somebody I know... :P... Things will never be the same for Frodo, that is true, but the point that I was trying to make in the last chapter is that there is hope for him to regain control of himself, it is just a matter of gaining enough to strength to fight for his will. There is certainly a good chance that he will begin to fight back.

Chapter 11: Plotting the Course of Action

Gandalf was the sort of person one could always depend upon to have a plan. He seemed to understand things that others could little comprehend. The wizard was, perhaps, the only one who could see or guess at the inner workings of the dark lord's mind, and he always seemed to give a deep perspective to the meanings behind the courses of events and such things that a mortal could not even begin to fathom. But happenings were now turning in such a way that Gandalf was left unusually uncertain. Never had he been dealt a situation with such conflict between things that he held dear; never had he used one of his dearest friends and had it turn so ill.

Gandalf examined the problem, turning it over and over in his mind, trying to find a perspective that would somehow reveal a solution. The wizard began searching fervently through the pages of history preserved in his thoughts, trying to find any situation to mirror the conundrum they were trapped within. The tale of Isildur, to some extent, was a like circumstance. The son of the king had been a hero, a man who had, with naught but a shattered sword, driven Sauron back into the shadows of the world. And yet, soon after, he had committed the most wicked of deeds in claiming the enemy's ring! Had Elrond only killed Isildur and destroyed the ring, Gandalf would not be hunched over in worry at present. It was clear, so terribly clear, that Frodo should die for his crimes. Already, so much innocent blood had been spilt, and Gandalf dared not think what sort of cruel things the hobbit was doing to young Samwise. The old conjuror was the leader of what little resistance was left to the dark lord's dominion, and he could not afford to wallow in grief. And yet, whenever he pictured the faces of the hobbits as they had been in the long ago days of the Shire, his heart panged with unspoken grief.

It had been years since Frodo had first claimed the ring, and each of the four halflings had undergone his own personal tragedy. Pippin was dead, lying beneath a willow on the grounds of Minas Tirith. Aragorn had promised Merry that a statue would be carved in honor of his friend, but in the current crisis, such things could not be seen to. Merry, the one hobbit who should have been himself, was far from the witty creature he once had been. Instead, all of his thoughts were dark, and he harbored wicked plots of revenge, all gruesome. Gandalf had warned him that Frodo's death would probably be nessasary, but that Merry should divert his thoughts from such evil things until his wrath was needed. Meriadoc was clearly pained by the sort of creature he had become, but still did not show any signs of letting go of his hate. Often men would discuss plans of how to storm the fortress of Baradur, and many times the hobbit would insist that he be allowed to personally kill Frodo. Frodo, of course, had become a puppet of Sauron's, and Gandalf would often try to point out to Merry that his old cousin probably had no control over his actions and should not be blamed for all the destruction, but he could hardly blame the halfling for not caring. The last hobbit was Sam. The wizard was often pained to see that his fate mattered so little to the other captains. Samwise was the plaything of Sauron, and Gandalf felt undeniably responsible for every tragedy that had befallen the simple, innocent gardener. Thusly, he often reminded the council, which consisted of nearly forty top military men, that they should at least attempt to figure in a rescue for the helpless hobbit. To his chagrin, Gandalf received very little support for this idea; only Aragorn, Faramir, Legolas, and Eowyn ever agreed with his proposal. The people of Gondor had suffered terribly since Frodo had claimed the enemy's ring, and they were not inclined to go out of there way to bring aid to the one who had failed to stop his plans. Rumors had circulated amoungst the peasants that Sam was actually the dark lord's lackey, and had helped Frodo with his plans. These accusations astounded Gandalf, but he could do little to convince those gullible fools that they were dishonoring a hero.

After nearly a decade of defense against Sauron's forces, the Captains of the West had finally gathered enough men to launch an assault upon the enemy's stronghold. This would be their final chance to turn the tide, or the world would be crushed beneath a wave of darkness. There was little hope in a military victory, for their forces would be outnumbered two to one. However, Gandalf had finally conceived a plan.

That was why he was sitting in a chamber, lit only in the wavering glow of torches mounted upon the walls. Gandalf was awaiting Aragorn, Legolas, Faramir, and Eowyn, his most trusted companions, and was examining, one last time, his plot to overthrow the enemy. No matter from which angle the wizened Gandalf looked at his scenario, it was always clear that Frodo's death would be essencial. Then why was his heart quivering with such dread?

"Mithrandir?" Gandalf looked up, slightly startled, but smiled at the sight of Eowyn. Since they had first met, years of war had weathered her face slightly. She was still beautiful, and would be so even if she lived to see a hundred years, but her skin was worn and lacked its youthful luster. Alike in this loss was her spirit. As a young maiden, she had hungered for battle and glory, but such things seemed less desirable when she was a wife and a mother, and her services were called upon when all she longed for was peace. Gandalf had been loath to allow her to fight, especially when her burning thirst for enemy blood had been quenched. However, times were such that skilled and charismatic leaders were rarely found, and the shield maiden was well-loved by all the men. Eowyn was needed by her people, and it was decided that she should help lead them in battle. Now, bathed in the soft luminescence of the torchlight, she looked as an Elven-warrior, ageless and glorious, withstanding time with a fiery grace. In the half-light the soft lines about her eyes were hidden, as was the slight furrow in her brow that came with all the cares of her strange life. She was a shield maiden to both her people and her children, but tonight, she looked as she did when the inner fire of her spirit had been kindled long ago, when the labors of the old wizard had not been so afflicting. Remembering those days of a bygone era, Gandalf smiled for the first time in what felt like a life-age of the Earth.

At Eowyn's side was her husband, Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and the dearest friend of King Elessar. He looked very much the same; those past seven years had failed to age him visibly, for he had been living under the constant threat of war and in the heat of battle for almost all of his life, and was used to the strain that came with constantly keeping death at bay.

Behind the couple came Legolas. Of course, he also did not change visibly, for he was an elf, and aged only in spirit. Gandalf knew that the years had been hard on Legolas, although it was sometimes hard to tell for those who did not know him. Unlike Merry, Legolas did not wear his emotions on his sleeve. But the wizard could tell that he had lost his former innocence, an innocence that had amazed Gandalf when he had first met the elf, given his age. But the elf was young by the reckoning of his people, and he had been raised in a land where death was a thing not clearly understood and rarely seen. Suddenly, Legolas had been made a key figure in a raging war, and death was all about him, clouding his senses! Concerning the topic of death, Legolas had been almost a child in his understanding of it, and now, seven years later, he was a hardened warrior who had seen many of his friends perish to the enemy's blade.

And, lastly, there came Aragorn, the leader of the failing race of men, and the last hope for the free peoples of Middle Earth. Had he changed? Gandalf did not know. Whatever reluctance there was, on his part, to embrace his role as Isildur's heir had vanished long before Frodo's betrayal. Perhaps, to some, it might have seemed that he had become a better leader, or warrior, but Gandalf did not think it so. The wizard was one of the few persons who had known him his whole life, and knew all of his secrets. In Gandalf's mind, Aragorn had always possessed these excellent qualities, but had just not been able to display them in full. Even the question about allowing Frodo to live was not new to him, although it still caused him much grief. Strider, as the hobbits had often called him, had confided to Gandalf, in the House of Elrond, that he had been ready through their entire journey from Bree to kill Frodo if he was made into a wraith. Gandalf, battle-hardened as he was, was shocked at Aragorn's resolve in this matter. Seeing his old friend, Gandalf smiled again. One thing was certain; he, Gandalf, was no longer the sole leader of Middle Earth, even behind the scenes, so to speak. It was reassuring to know that he was no longer the one that would always be looked to when disaster struck. The wizard would be there to help Aragorn, of course, and give his opinions, but he finally had someone that he could truly look to as an equal, and someone to share his burdens with. And, if his task was ever finished, Gandalf could entrust his old friend with Middle Earth without any doubt that the world would be safe.

But, mused Gandalf, he was getting rather ahead of himself. His task would not be complete for a long time, even if their plans were executed with flawless deftness. Although he would not admit it to his comrades, save for Aragorn, Gandalf doubted the plausibility of their scheme. He had examined every nuance of it time and again, and found no flaws, but it still seemed too simple for the wizard's liking. And by the somber look struck upon Faramir's visage, it seemed that he would be having more problems.

"Mithrandir," spoke Faramir slowly, barely keeping latent the pain behind his voice, "In our last meeting, I had reluctantly agreed to allowing my wife to take part in this plot of yours. However, I now must insist that you change these plans; Eowyn is with child, so you must understand that under these circumstances her participation would be simply inconceivable!"

Gandalf bowed his head in frustration. "Faramir, I must ask you, and I demand honesty, would this really inhibit Eowyn's ability to perform her task? We will lay siege to Barradur in less than a week. Your wife is not heavy with child now, and I doubt a week's time will make much of a difference."

The sour expression that crossed Faramir's face answered all of Gandalf's queries. "I did not want to allow Eowyn to put herself in harm's way in the first place, but I will not allow both my wife and my child to be put at risk. Perhaps, if you had ever loved someone, you would understand my pain! But you are only a great manipulator, always calculating but never caring."

Aragorn held out his hand to silence Faramir, but the damage had been done. Gandalf rose, not furious, but, in a way, hurt. "I have loved more deeply than you could ever dream! I have been chosen to care for every being on this world, not favoring one over the other. I have walked this Earth for three hundred lives of men, and many of my dearest companions have come and gone. Do not think that I share not in your Earthly sorrows. But with these years I have also attained much wisdom. You would have me save the lives of your wife and child, but you would also have me condemn countless innocents to perish! How many widows, Faramir, whose love for their family was no less than yours, would be forced to live alone for the rest of their mundane lives, while you had the luxury of having yours always protected and care for. Where is your sense of justice? Have you allowed it to be clouded with your own selfish wants?"

Faramir cast his eyes to the ground in shame, but he could not stop on last question from escaping his lips. "Why my Eowyn? Why must she be chosen for this task?"

Gandalf shook his head and through his hands in the air, for they had debated this many times before. Aragorn, sensing that Gandalf's tolerance was running thin, answered him. "You know, of course, that a victory of our army would be nothing short of miraculous, so we must have someone kill Frodo. If he dies, the result will be much as it was three thousand years ago, when Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand. His armies will fall easily, and time will be bought for us to again attempt to destroy his ring. However, we cannot hope for him to show himself on the field of battle as he once did, for Frodo's form is not well suited for combat. So, we must send assassins into his abode, using the Pass of Cirith Ungol, which will not be heavily watched while all the armies are away doing battle."

"What of Shelob?" asked Faramir.

Gandalf chose to answer this time. "That is another reason why I have called you together this night. Shelob has been slain. She had already been weakened when Samwise set his blade to her flesh," (he paused at this point, and breathed in, with a look on his face that faintly resembled pride) "and our scouts were able to rid the world of this monstrous creature. So Legolas and Eowyn will be able to (if not caught) kill Frodo without trouble. However, we must not underestimate the Dark Lord; chances are that they will be caught. If this happens, Legolas will have to struggle, while Eowyn will feign great fear, and drop her sword. Both Aragorn and I agree that it will not have occurred to the Dark Lord to search her further, for he has always miscalculated when it comes to the strength of women. She will have a dagger hidden in her sleeve, placed where she can reach it when her hands are bound. When they are taken to Frodo, she will cut her bonds and kill him. So you can see, Faramir, that we need a woman for this job, and Eowyn is the only person I would trust with such a mission."

Faramir nodded, but his expression showed that he still did not agree. Eowyn looked at her husband with a fire they had not seen in a long time. "You men-folk are quite a presumptuous lot! You would use me, when I am needed, and debate over my uses as if I could not hear your every word. Never have you inquired as to my thoughts on the matter, but I care not, for I shall disclose them to you in full whether by your wishes or nay. I wish to perform this duty for my world, and for Samwise. You have spoken so highly of this most daring of halflings, and I have come to love him as if I have known him all these seven years. There were, perhaps, other paths we might have taken, but is the only way we could possibly save Sam."

Faramir's expression was now truly clear. "I apologize Eowyn, and Gandalf, I have spoken rashly and unwisely. Shall we now tell the others?"

"No," said Legolas, "we deemed it best if very few knew of this plan. You do know that Merry, if he were aware of our schemes, would insist on taking part."

They all nodded solemnly, and left the chamber, all glad at heart that some clear course of action had been planned.

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Eowyn and Legolas had known that their mission would prove difficult, but now they were beginning to lose all hope. They had entered the fortress with no perspective as to where they were in relation to the prison, where they hoped to find Sam, and, of course, Frodo's private quarters. Unwisely, as it now seemed, they had separated, hoping that one of them would make a discovery. But now, all that Eowyn wished was to find her companion.

Without realizing it, she had begun to panic. The thick walls of the corridors seemed to loom in around her, watching her, crushing her. Eowyn was panting when she turned a corner. To her relief she saw Legolas coming around the bend, and she allowed herself a deep sigh. The elf put his finger to her lips and whispered, "Hush. We would not do well to awaken whatever foul creatures might be lurking here. I have found Frodo's quarters, although he is not there at the moment. However, it is getting late into the night, and I assume that he will be retiring soon enough. We should probably wait for him there."

Eowyn nodded and followed the elf, ashamed at herself for quailing. What had happened to the fearless maiden who had vanquished the Nazgul Lord; the woman who had feared neither death nor pain? To this, Eowyn knew the answer. The lady who had not known love had almost welcomed death, but she was now bound to her husband and her children. The shield maiden now knew true love, and thusly she now knew true fear.

The pair was now outside Frodo's room. Eowyn peaked in stealthily, and saw who her victim would be. He was sprawled out in bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, whimpering in whatever anguished dreams haunted his sleep. The lady felt the blood rush to her face. This was whom they wanted her to kill? This pathetic, childish creature? Gandalf had warned her she might be surprised when she saw him, but nothing could have prepared her for this! Silently repeating his every murderous and treasonous offence in her mind, she reached for her sword and prepared herself for the task at hand.

But as she strode into the room, a shadowy figure emerged from the cloak of night, followed by another, and others after that. Was he always surrounded by guards? wondered Eowyn, as she instinctually raised her sword. But she quickly remembered the role she had to play and dropped her sword with a loud clatter, crying out, "Mercy! Mercy, please!"

Frodo had by now risen from his bad shouting, "The cowards! They dare try to murder me in my slumber? Take the elf to The Chamber without delay; I shall speak to this woman. I shall see if she, in her womanly ambivalence, will agree to aid us." The guards quickly dispersed under his orders, only two remaining to guard their master. The plan was going to work, Eowyn reassured herself.

Frodo picked up her blade from the ground, examining it casually in the lamplight. "This is a lovely blade," he commented lightly, looking at her strangely. "Such a cold, silver beauty. Delicate and deadly... much as thyself," he added sharply.

"No, no!" cried Eowyn desperately, "I aim to hurt you no more. I will serve you in any way you wish, if only you would spare my life!"

"Thou art certainly a faint-hearted woman, art thou not? There are many ways in which I would have thee serve me, although some ways might prove difficult, given our difference in size."

Eowyn slowly felt a flush of humiliation and anger creep into her visage.

"But there is a lie in thy eyes, Eowyn, shield maiden of Rohan. Dost thou believe II do not know the wench who has slain my greatest servant? That I would not see thy blade and recognize it as the token of the woman I have long sought? A dreadful miscalculation on Gandalf's part, for I am sure it was he who sent thee. Take her to the tower, to be with her ill-fated companion!" said he, grabbing Eowyn's arm and yanking the dagger from its hiding place and shoving her away.

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You like? Two more chapters to go, and then we go to Part II! I'm excited, aren't you? Please leave a review!


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